


House of Flesh On fire

by fardareismai2



Category: Southern Vampire Mysteries - Charlaine Harris, True Blood
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-02
Updated: 2009-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-19 15:50:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 111,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1475413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fardareismai2/pseuds/fardareismai2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor Northman teaches English at a distinguished liberal arts college. Sookie Stackhouse is an English major.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally published over at fanfiction.net a million years ago. It began as a silly little exercise on one of the forums. We found random word generators and wrote little drabbles for them. Many of those stories grew. Mine became this. There is something potentially triggering in this story, so see the notes at the end. It was also one of my earliest stories. I like to think my writing has improved a lot since then. 
> 
> The title of this fic comes from a poem by Robert Herrick, one of my favorite 17th century poets, which is saying a lot because I'm not normally a "poetry" kind of girl. It is from a poem called The Scar-Fire.
> 
> Betas were Gallathea and Chicklette
> 
> WATER, water I desire;
> 
> Here's a house of flesh on fire.
> 
> Ope the fountains and the springs,
> 
> And come all to bucketings.
> 
> What ye cannot quench, pull down.
> 
> Spoil a house to save a town;
> 
> Better 't is that one should fall,
> 
> Than by one to hazard all.
> 
>  
> 
> As always, Charlaine Harris owns the original versions of these characters, I just like to take them out and play with them in her sandbox.

I stared at him from the doorway. It was now or never. I could behave like the proverbial ostrich with my head in the sand, or I could "grow a set," as my eloquent brother put it, and make a move.

The first day I walked into his class, I nearly walked right back out again. There, in the back row sat my ex boyfriend, Bill Compton. I know I decided on my schedule before we broke up and, I know he knew what I was taking. I just, for the life of me, could not remember if he had already set his schedule, or if this was some weird Win-Sookie-Back ploy of his. As if.

I shuddered as I remembered walking into his apartment that day. I heard the television blaring from his room and quirked a smile. He always listened to it so damned loud that I teased him that he was like a deaf old man. I opened the door and the smile died on my lips. There was Bill alright, standing over a very naked woman who was bent over the edge of his bed, slamming into her for all he was worth. They were so consumed with what they were doing, they didn't even notice me. At least not until my copy of Pope's collected works hit Bill in the head, accompanied by my shouted "you mother fucker!"

What can I say? My Gran would have rolled in her grave at my swearing, but I was a little pissed.

So I stood there debating the merits of remaining in this class, and decided I was not going to let him have a say in my life anymore, and if I dropped the class because of him, that's exactly what I would be doing. The son-of-a-bitch even had the audacity to smile at me. Well, there was nothing for it. We were both English majors and, therefore, we were bound to have a few classes together.

I turned around to find a seat as far away from Bill as possible when I slammed into a wall. Well, not exactly a wall, but a solid mass of muscled chest. I looked up and found myself staring into the most impossibly blue eyes I had ever seen. They were the blue-white of arctic ice, and they crackled with intelligence.

A huge hand shot out to steady me, and that's when I saw the robe. I let out a small groan as I realized that I'd nearly run down the professor. "I'm sorry." I stammered. His hand moved away and I found myself wishing it hadn't.

Crap. I shook my head to clear it and that's when I realized that the entire class was silent, watching me, and that the professor was indicating a nearby seat in the front row. I nearly died of embarrassment. I slid into the seat, trying to decide what was worse: having my professor think I was some flibbertigibbet, or having the entire class witness my mortification.

The only thing that mollified me slightly was that I'd seen Bill's face when the prof's hand was still on my shoulder. He was not happy. Good. He shouldn't be.

By the end of that week, I wished I had dropped the class. Professor Northman was gorgeous, and I found myself completely distracted by him, by thoughts of his enormous hands and those incredibly blue eyes.

To make matters worse, I was now stuck in the front row, directly in front of him, so he was always catching me staring at him. I couldn't help it, though. I could not take my eyes off of him. At six foot four or so, he had to be the tallest man I knew. He had long, blond hair that he always wore pulled back in a low pony tail at the base of his neck. His hands . . . well, I know I already said they were huge, but his fingers were long and graceful and, despite his size, when he gripped the chalk and wrote on the board, his hand was elegant and smooth.

However, my biggest problem was academic. Every time I was called on to answer a question or bring up a talking point, he seemed to disagree with me, challenging me. We had not yet had an exam, but my paper on the Quixotic Influences in Tom Jones got a B+. I was horrified. I'd never gotten less than an A in any of my English classes.

I vented to my best friend, and roommate Amelia. She immediately told me to seduce him. I was shocked. "Amelia!" I berated her. I went on and on about how misogynistic that was; how doing something like that would be in direct contradiction of my feminist tendencies. Now don't get me wrong. I'm not a femi-nazi, but I believe in making my own way and not having to depend on a man.

Add to all this the fact that Bill was chasing after me after every class, trying to win me back with declarations of his love and whispered reminders of what we had shared. I knew I wouldn't go back to him, but it did something to my insides to hear him whispering in my ear. It made me want someone, and as I sat there in class three days a week, I realized that someone was Professor Northman.

I could not stop thinking about him and what it would be like to seduce him. God, it was so cliché, but he was in my head all the time. I hadn't been with anyone since Bill, and that wasn't helping either. My libido was out of control and the good professor was just stoking the flames. After a month and a half of torment, God help me, I decided to do something about it.

So here I was. I stepped into his office.

Without looking up from his desk, he registered my presence and said in a flat tone, "My office hours are written on the syllabus."

I gulped. "Professor Northman?"

He sighed and looked up at me, his blue eyes blazing into mine. "Miss Stackhouse. Is there something I can help you with?"

_Oh man, is there something he can help me with._

I moved to the side of his desk, and he swiveled in his chair, his long legs splayed out in front of him, giving me a wonderful view of him in his tight jeans. _Wow!_

"I," I almost stuttered. "I was wondering if there was any sort of extra credit I could do to help my grade? I'd be willing to do anything." _God, could I sound more cliché?_

I saw the corner of his lip twitch in the start of a smile. "Anything?" He asked seductively.

"Anything." I replied. I looked down as I felt the blush begin to sweep across my face and, I noticed that the view had just gotten much, much better.


	2. Chapter 2

I was grading yet another set of incomprehensible, poorly written, first-year papers. How these people graduated high school, never mind managed to get into university, astounded me. They were replete with incomplete sentences, half-baked concepts, and juvenile language. For example, in discussing _Tristram Shandy_ , one student actually wrote that he got "his _pee-pee_ cut." Yes, he wrote pee-pee. I actually laughed at that one. I think I gave him a C-, up from a D+, just because he managed to make me laugh.

A few moments later, it hit me, her scent: a mixture of citrus and jasmine. It was clean and feminine, and uniquely her. That scent, along with the rest of her, had been driving me crazy all semester. Every time she walked into class, her incredible smell breezing past me, I felt myself starting to get hard. Thankfully, the school was old fashioned and all professors wore robes during class.

When I walked into class that first day, I noticed her standing there looking confused, and seemingly unsure about where to sit. I came up behind her, intending on simply clearing my throat to get her to move, when she spun around and slammed into my chest.

My hand instinctively shot out to steady her, and I found myself gazing down into the most beautiful, blue eyes I had seen in a very long time. They were startled, doe-like, and a completely unorthodox combination of cerulean blue with a ring of darker sapphire on the outside.

Her scent, which hit me as soon as she spun around, was enveloping me in a haze of desire, sultry and languid. My mind conjured sun-kissed skin and warm beaches. Then she groaned. It was the sexiest fucking sound, and I felt my stomach clench with desire.

"I'm sorry," she stammered, and snapped me out of my fantasy. I pulled my hand away, noticing that the class was watching this exchange. I vaguely indicated a seat that was empty, and she slid into it.

I tried to shake it off, and proceeded to run through my standard, first-day-of-class routine, but I felt like I was off my game. Every time I looked over in her direction, I felt exposed, and I thought that the students must think I'm an idiot. I mentally groaned, and berated myself for pointing her to that seat, as I passed around the seating chart. Now she would be there, right there in front of me, for the rest of the semester. Fuck.

The seating chart came back to me, and I looked for only one seat: Sookie Stackhouse. That was her name. Figures; Sookie, nickname for Susanah or, in Hebrew, Shoshana: a rose. How fucking appropriate.

Now she was here, standing in the doorway of my office. I took a moment to compose myself. She was a student, for fuck's sake. Without raising my head, and seemingly without knowing it was her, I flatly stated that my office hours were on the syllabus-a not so gentle reminder that now was not that time.

Then she spoke, "Professor Northman?"

I sighed. I couldn't avoid it. I was going to have to face her. I adopted one of my more severe tones. "Miss Stackhouse. Is there something I can help you with?"

A moment later she shocked me completely. She moved to the side of my desk, and I turned to watch her. I watched as her eyes took in the complete package, which I smugly admit is impressive, and then she propositioned me!

 _Oh no she didn't!_ My brain shouted. _Oh yes she did!_ My dick replied, and then promptly began demanding to be let out. It was like something out of a bad movie, but I was enthralled.

She was clearly out of her element. She was biting her lip nervously, like she was second guessing her decision. Then I saw her take a breath, as if deciding on something. No, the _art_ of seduction was not this girl's forte. It was, however, mine. Yet I could not take advantage of her like that; first, she was a student, but second, she was what? 19? 20? Maybe she had a little crush on her professor, but that's first year psychology. No, despite some loud clamoring from the little devil on my shoulder, there was no way I was going there. No way would I risk my job for this. I could, however, have a little fun.

I quirked a little smile and replied, "Anything?"

"Anything," she replied, and then blushed the most beautiful fucking shade of pink. Her eyes dropped, but I still saw them widen as she took the rest of me in.

She wanted to play? Well, check mate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just had to add that I was a grader for one of my English professors. I did grade for his lower division, non-English major classes, and I did have an exam that described Tristram Shandy as having his "pee pee" cut. I laughed . . . a lot. Hell, it's been over 15 years and I'm still laughing.


	3. Chapter 3

I stood up and caught my reflection in the mirror. My face was flushed, and my hair . . . I hastily tucked the stray pieces behind my ear. I heard a slight chuckle behind me and felt the blush start at my toes.

I turned, grabbed another stack of papers and bent back down to the bottom drawer of the file cabinet. _So not what I had in mind for extra credit_.

In my mind's eye, things had gone much differently. I suppose I foolishly assumed it would be like in the movies. That he would knock everything off of his desk, and take me there. Perhaps, he would rip my panties off me in his desperation. I wanted it like that. I wanted that passion . . . that erotic thrill. I needed it.

My love life with Bill had been good, if a bit predictable. He was a patient lover, always making sure to give before he got, and he gave well. It was just a bit, well, boring. We always had sex in the bedroom, and it was always on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, because he didn't work on those days and, therefore, wasn't too tired.

We had been together for two years when I found them that evening, although I had known Bill for some time before that. We were both from a small town in Louisiana. Bill was a year older than I was, but we did know each other in high school. After graduation, I'd gone to work at the local watering hole. There was no way my Gran could afford college. Plus, she had just been diagnosed with the cancer that eventually took her, and I needed to help out with the expenses.

Bill came from a somewhat well-to-do family, but decided to take some time off before going to school, and after graduation he wound up getting a job on a road crew with my brother Jason. They would all come in to the bar after work, and Bill would always have a compliment for me. He also saw to it that the boys did not skimp on my tips.

No one had paid much attention to me in high school. That was partly my brother's fault. Jason was the school's quarterback, golden child, and all around Mr. Popularity. Of course, that meant that anyone who showed any interest in his sister got a thorough talking to. Add to that my rather plain looks, and I graduated high school a virgin.

Then one night, about three years after graduation, Bill came in to my work alone and on his day off. He sat in my section and made small talk with me while he ate his burger and fries, and drank his beer. As I lay the check on his table, he grabbed my hand. His thumb rubbed small circles over the back of my hand, and he looked up at me. His cool gaze ignited a little fire in my belly, and I stared back at him, biting my lip like I do when I'm surprised, worried, or embarrassed.

He asked me to go out on a date with him, and I agreed. When Jason found out, he about hit the roof, and it was everything Gran and I could do to convince him not to go beat the living daylights out of Bill for "even thinking of that with my baby sister!" God love Jason, but he's such a Neanderthal. Eventually, however, as Bill and I continued to see each other, Jason got over it, but that's why I never told Jason why Bill and I broke up. I didn't want to see my brother go to jail for killing a man.

Gran's death was a turning point, for all of us. We were stunned to find out that she had left her entire house and its contents to me. Her lawyer explained that since Jason had gotten our parents' house, Gran had thought it only fair. Her life insurance policy, such as it was, was split between us, but most of it went to her burial expenses and the like. Jason wasn't thrilled about it, but at least he didn't blame me.

In the end, I decided that I needed to do something else with my life, and put the house up for sale. I applied to several schools, and got in to three of them. I went with the one that offered the best financial aid program and that, coupled with the money from the sale of the house, allowed me to finally go to college.

I suppose my decision made Bill finally decide to grow up, and he applied to the same schools I did, and followed me here. Where we went didn't much matter to him. His family could afford it.

He wanted to live together, but I flat out refused. I was on my own for the first time in my life, and I needed to experience that. Plus, I'm a little old fashioned. I don't think people should live together without getting married. It's not just about the sex, but I figure if you're going to make a commitment, make a commitment. Fish or cut bait, you know?

I checked the online listings for roommates. I wanted to live in an apartment, not a dorm. I may have been on my own, and wanting to experience new things, but I was older than most of the kids there. Sharing a bathroom with twenty other girls was not one of those experiences I was seeking.

I wound up taking a room in a two bedroom apartment. My roommate was Amelia, and we hit it off immediately. She was only a year younger than I was, having decided to take two years off after school to travel the world. Amelia's daddy is loaded, but she's great. Totally down to earth and not a snob at all.

It was the best thing I ever did. Amelia turned out to be the best friend I never even realized I was looking for. She was studying art, with an emphasis on fashion design. It was her life! On the plus side, I got to be her big Barbie doll. When she was done with dolling me up, I felt pretty and sexy. I wasn't going to win any beauty pageants, but at least I didn't feel as plain as I had in high school. Even Bill noticed, and would wrap his arm possessively around my waist as we walked around campus.

Well, glad I cut bait there. Of course, usually the bait swims away. It doesn't show up in your class on Restoration and 18th-Century Literature. I shook my head clear of Bill Compton, and resumed my menial labor slash extra-credit-work with a small sigh.

As I filed everything alphabetically, I pondered how I managed to mess this up so completely. Amelia would never be filing. She would be making her professor think he needed a bypass. I shook my head and muttered to myself. I sort of squashed the last paper into the appropriate file and stood up. I closed my eyes and stretched out the kinks in my back. I don't think I realized how long I'd been bent over that filing cabinet.

Then I felt his breath on my neck. "That was quite a view, Ms. Stackhouse."

His voice was like whiskey: amber and smooth, with a bit of fire as it worked through me. My stomach clenched and I felt my libido do a little tap dance.

Then I felt his hand brush my hair from the back of my neck. I closed my eyes, and was about to lean back against him, when he moved away. My eyes snapped open and I spun around, confusion clearly painted all over my face.

He was sitting or, rather, leaning on the edge of his desk. His hands were on either side, holding the desk, his legs casually crossed at the ankles. At some point he had removed the hair band that gathered his hair at his neck, and his long blond mane was flowing down over his shoulders. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, revealing his impressive forearms and . . . _Oh my god, is that a tattoo?_

Sweet Jesus! I think I've died and gone to heaven.

That sexy smirk of his began to play across his lips as he looked back at me. "See something you like?


	4. Chapter 4

As soon as she started filing I realized my mistake. She was wearing a sun dress, as we'd had a couple of unseasonably hot days, and it showed off her tan legs to great advantage. I found my eyes trailing from her strappy, little high-heeled sandals up her beautiful, bronzed legs, then continuing to gaze up as those legs disappeared into the flouncy skirt of her dress. I couldn't help but wonder what she was wearing under it.

Unbidden, images of flipping the skirt up and taking her from behind began to run through my mind. I would walk up behind her, grab her waist and pull her to me, letting her feel my hardness, showing her what she did to me. She would try to stand up, but I would use one hand to keep her bent over, as the other moved down between her legs.

Then she would moan as I ran my hand up her thigh, until it reached her center and traced the contours of her sex through her wet panties. Her moans would get louder, as I'd curl my fingers around the waistband of that little scrap of lace and tear it off of her. I'd move my hand to my pants, freeing my dick while the other hand released her hair. I would watch it cascade down her back, and then wrap it around my hand.

Then I would dip my fingers into her, spreading her wetness, and with a tug on her hair, I would thrust into her. Her moans would be loud and primal, and cause me to swell even more inside her. Over and over I would slam into her, taking her, possessing her, until we'd both cry out in release. It was like watching my own personal porno, and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

I tried to force myself to concentrate on my paperwork, but to no avail. I found myself reading the same paragraph over and over, and wondering if I could get to the bathroom to deal with my problem without it being too obvious.

I tried to ignore her, but I found that I kept staring at her like I'd never seen a pair of legs, or a great ass. Oh, and what a great ass it is. What was happening to me? I was always in control of myself, my impulses. She was a student, and since she was a junior I'm sure she was legal, but she was still young. This was wrong on so many levels I couldn't even fathom how I'd gotten to this juncture.

Maybe I just needed to get laid? I thought back to my last "date," and realized it had been just over a month since I'd gone out with Ginger. I had gone to a faculty function and brought her along. We met in a book store, and although she had a porn star's name, she was surprisingly intelligent. She was lovely company, and the sex was adequate, but nothing revelatory, and certainly not worth a second call. No reason to change my lifestyle at all.

I thought of Felicia. Felicia was not a romantic interest. She was a friend. A . . . what do the kids say these days? A friend with benefits? Felicia was a no-strings-attached kind of woman. In fact, I'd have to say she was very much like me in that regard. I decided to call Felicia later that night. Yes. That's what I would do.

I yanked the rubber band out of my hair and ran my hand through it, tearing through a couple of knots and hoping the pain would snap me out of my fantasies. I was willing myself to concentrate. I looked down at my work, but made the mistake of flicking my gaze to my filing cabinet. Sookie was squatting down, trying to stuff some papers in a file, and then she sort of popped partially back up, so she was still bending over the drawer, but her legs were completely straight.

 _Dear God_. All thoughts of Felicia fled my brain. I felt the blood leave my head and go racing right back to my cock. In my mind's eye I saw her riding me, while using those incredible legs to bounce up and down on me. She had to be doing this on purpose. No one could be that naïve about their own appeal, could they?

Before I knew it, I was out of my seat and halfway to her. Then she stood and stretched, lifting her dress just a little higher, exposing just _that_ much more leg to me. _Fuck._ Her neck was red and flushed, and several strands of hair had escaped her makeshift bun and were sticking to her neck. I wanted to lick and nibble, and bite her neck.

A small part of my brain, a very small part, screamed at me to sit back down. _This is wrong! This is so very, very wrong!_ The larger part seemed to be taking the side of my body, and was cheering. _Do it. Take her._ Okay, I'll admit. Maybe it wasn't my brain. Maybe I was letting my little head do the talking. Whatever it was, every fiber of my being was screaming to touch her, to taste her.

Before I knew it I was behind her and I said, "That was quite a view, Ms. Stackhouse." Then my hand brushed away those damp strands of hair, and I leaned forward, inhaling her intoxicating smell. I felt my mouth water, and my lips part as I prepared to . . . _fuck me!_ I was going to bite her! I had never felt such an urge to mark someone before, and I had to take a step back and regain my composure.

She whirled around, obviously confused. I was leaning against my desk staring at her. I couldn't let her see how off balance she had me. No. This was going to stop. There were strict, strict rules about exactly this! Then she looked at me, and I swear to God she fucked me with her eyes. I saw her gaze travel from my hair, to my shoulders, then pause on my tattoo. Her eyes got wide, and then she closed them for a moment before opening them again and staring at me like I was something on a menu.

I couldn't help myself. I plastered on my trademark smirk and asked, "See something you like?"


	5. Chapter 5

I think I licked my lips while I tried to formulate a response. This man knew exactly what he was doing. How did I ever think I would be able to seduce him? He _invented_ the game of seduction. I was screwed.

I noticed him watching my mouth, and realized I was biting my lower lip. I blushed, and unconsciously licked my lip again. His eyes shot up to mine and then . . .

"I saw a Cherry weep, and why? Why wept it? But for shame, because my Julia's lip was by, and did out-red the same. But pretty fondling, let not fall a tear at all for that: which Rubies, Corals, Scarlets, all for tincture, wonder at."

Oh no, he didn't! He did not just quote Robert Herrick to me! I felt my panties become very, very damp. Fuck me.

He stood up and took a step towards me and I blurted out, "umm, nice tattoo." _Nice tattoo?_ He quotes Robert Herrick to me, and that's what I come up with? No pithy response. No witty quote to fling back. Nope. I'm such a spaz! Like one of those rubber balls bouncing all over the place. I always wondered if someone could actually die of shame. Now I knew. I was going to find a nice little hole, curl up, and die.

He smirked and looked down at his arm, at the beautifully wrought Viking, wrapped in the arms of a Valkyrie. "It's a nod to my heritage."

 _He's descended from Vikings? Dear God. I want to be pillaged by this Viking!_ I had a sudden image of him wearing animal skins, with a sword in his hand, and his hair flowing behind him in the breeze as he stood over me. I started to bite my lip again.

Another step and he was in front of me. He reached up, and with his thumb, gently tugged my lip out from between my teeth, then ran it lightly across my lip. I felt the tingle all the way down to my toes. How did he do this to me with just a touch? I'm an average, former waitress, who can't seem to turn him on for anything, and he sets me on fire with just a touch.

"Cherry – Ripe! Ripe! Ripe! I cry, full and fair ones; come and buy: if so be, you ask me where they do grow? I answer, 'There, where my Julia's lips do smile . . ." He leaned forward and I felt his breath on my mouth.

His breath was sweet, and clean, and all I wanted was to taste him. I realized he was preparing to kiss me. I knew he was only playing with me, and that he was probably just teasing me again, but at that moment I didn't care. I simply wanted the kiss, something to relive in my fantasies.

Then someone knocked on the door. I heard him curse in a foreign language. _Do they still speak Viking?_ He strode to the door and yanked it open.

In walked Pam, the tallest, most statuesque blond in the class. "Professor, I have to talk to you about the grade you gave me on that paper!" She flicked her eyes towards me and then, as if I didn't exist, continued, "I don't think it's fair."

I quickly gathered up my belongings and headed for the door. _Fucking Pam, that interfering bitch!_

As I headed out the door, I heard his voice, "Ms. Stackhouse, if you are still interested in that extra credit, I'll see you here tomorrow, at six sharp."

I ran out of the building, completely frustrated with myself. _This is what I get for listening to Amelia. This is what I get for turning my back on my feminist beliefs._ I was on the verge of tears. How had I let myself get to this point? It was ridiculous. I stopped by a tree, and leaned my forehead against it as I tried to get my bearings.

"Sookie? Honey, are you okay?" Bill's voice washed over me, and despite myself, I felt my body relax. He'd always had that effect on me, able to soothe me with just a few notes of his voice, and he knew it. He was using that cool, honey-sweet voice that had always made me more pliable. I felt his arms around my shoulders, and I tried to shrug him off.

"Go away, Bill." I said, none too kindly. I felt the familiar sting of tears filling my eyes, and was willing them to stop. I felt Bill pull on my shoulders, trying to get me to turn around. I told him to go away again, but my tears betrayed me and my voice shook with emotion. Bill spun me around anyway.

"That son-of-a-bitch!" He hissed as he saw my tears. "I'm going to fucking kill him!"

"What are you talking about, Bill?" I asked, as I wiped the traitorous tears from my face.

"I know you were in Northman's office just now. I saw you leave." He grabbed my shoulders again, shaking me slightly. "What did he do to you, Sook? I've seen the way he's been looking at you all semester. I don't like it!"

I just stared at him like he was speaking in Greek. I think my mouth was even open. Then I started laughing. I mean real, gut-busting laughter. Now it was Bill's turn to stare. I clutched my side and said, "Oh Bill! He didn't do anything to me. That's exactly the problem."

Bill's eyes grew wide at my confession. "Sookie!" He said, his shock evident in his voice. "What's come over you?"

I ignored his question, but my laughter stopped, and my tone grew harsh. "Not that it's any of your fucking business anymore, but he isn't looking at me for anything. He doesn't want me. Hell, I don't know why I'm even upset or surprised; you didn't want me either."

I saw my words hit home, but I didn't expect what came next. Bill's lips came crashing down on mine as he pushed me against the tree. His hands came to my face, and he hungrily sucked at my lower lip. His tongue sought entrance, and almost involuntarily my lips parted, and I found myself reciprocating. I don't know if was just the familiarity of his mouth, a masochistic need to punish myself for what I'd just pulled, or a desperate need to feel _something_ after all the erotic tension in that office, but for the moment I allowed it.

When he broke off the kiss, his lips found my neck, nuzzling on the spot by my ear that always sent my libido galloping out of control, and he whispered hoarsely, his voice betraying his almost total lack of control, "You think I don't want you? Do you really think I ever stopped wanting you? I've wanted you from the first time your brother introduced us. I will _never_ stop wanting you."

Then I felt his want pressed up against my thigh. I will admit there was something incredibly alluring about hearing those words, particularly after I had crashed and burned so spectacularly in my first attempt at seduction. However, my brain finally started firing on all cylinders, and I pushed him off me.

"Well, you certainly didn't want me _that_ day Bill. No, you wanted . . . what was her name? Lorena? No, Selah? I forget, they came and went in such quick succession." I knew damn well that the woman I found him with was Lorena, and that she had been an old family friend. Selah was some girl he hooked up with shortly after in a vain attempt to make me jealous, but he didn't need to know that I knew.

"Sookie," he growled in frustration, "I told you that Lorena meant nothing! It was a mistake! I had too much to drink and . . ."

I cut him off. "Bill, I'm not going to rehash this with you. We're through. I can't be with someone I don't trust, and I don't trust you, Bill. It doesn't matter anyway, because I don't want you anymore." I said spitefully.

He grabbed me by the back of the neck then, and kissed me once more in a way that, frankly, left me breathless. _Why had he never kissed me like that before?_

"Liar." He said, and then pulled me close to his face. His eyes were wild with lust, almost predatory. "You are mine, Sookie." Then he let go and walked away.

Well fuck me sideways! What the hell was that? I needed to find Amelia and a nice big bottle of Tanqueray, tout de suite. This day went from hell in a hand basket, to straight to hell in mere minutes, and I was still trying to catch up. I shook my head and began walking to my apartment.


	6. Chapter 6

I glanced up at the clock. Five-thirty. Another half an hour. I shook my head. What the fuck was I doing? This was wrong on so many levels.

After she ran out of my office the day before, all I wanted to do was run after her, but I had to deal with the Ice Princess instead. I often came up with nicknames for some of the students in my classes. Pam Ravenscroft was, without a doubt, an ice princess. She was one those moneyed sorority girls who was well aware of the allure of both her looks, and her wealth. The male students all fawned over her, and she toyed with them. She almost reminded me of Scarlet O'Hara in the beginning of _Gone With The Wind_ , holding court at the barbeque at Twelve Oaks. Of course, that's where the similarities ended. Her haughty, disaffected airs held a small secret; Ms. Ravenscroft batted for the other team, although even she didn't realize it yet. Oh, what a scandal it would be when her society friends found out. It almost made me hope to know her in a few years, just so I could watch the events unfold.

I was disabused of _that_ notion after three minutes in her presence. If I never saw her again, it would be too soon. Finally, I told her that if she wanted to earn extra credit to make up for the grade, she could finish the filing Ms. Stackhouse didn't get to, and I pointed to a large pile of papers on my desk. She huffed, insulted that I thought she should do menial labor, and walked out of my office without another word.

After that, I needed some fresh air. I thought if I took a walk, I would be able to relax and figure out what the hell had happened, and was about to happen, just before Ms. Ravenscroft interrupted me and Sookie. I hoped the beautiful brick buildings, rolling lawns, and lush foliage would work their normal magic on me, and instill me with the peace of mind and strength I needed to get Sookie out of my system.

I couldn't have been more mistaken.

I walked out the front doors of the building, and watched as a young couple shared a passionate kiss against a tree. When they broke apart, I felt my stomach clench, and a surge of jealousy rose like bile. It was Sookie and that irritatingly smooth William Compton.

I had watched their interaction throughout the semester. He rarely took his eyes off of her during class, and often followed her after. The few times I had seen them outside of class, it seemed like he was pestering her. I always found myself curiously angered by the sight, and I admit to having chuckled inwardly at her apparent annoyance with him.

Yet, there she was on the receiving end of what seemed to be a searing kiss that left her breathless. He said something to her, then walked off, leaving her standing there in apparent shock, her fingers still tracing her lips.

I'm not a violent man by nature, but at that moment I wanted to kill William Compton. What the fuck was happening to me? What was she doing to me? All semester long she tormented me with her sun-kissed, clean, sex-on-a-beach smell, and then she comes to my office, playing these games with me, and next I find her kissing someone else not five minutes after leaving me. My head was spinning, my stomach was revolting, and my fists wanted to hit something.

I watched as she slowly gathered herself and walked away from the small copse of trees. I couldn't help but stare as her hips swayed seductively while she walked. In spite of all my frustration and anger, hell perhaps because of it, I felt my cock responding.

I reconsidered the idea of walking, pulled out my cell phone and dialed.

By the time I got home, I was a wreck. Thank goodness that bitch Pam interrupted us. I don't know what I would have done if she hadn't. I do know that I was about to kiss Sookie, and I'm not sure I would have been in control of my actions after that. Then, there was the gut punch of watching Compton lay that kiss on her. I couldn't help but think that if I had bitten her, if I _had_ marked her, he wouldn't have dared.

Two hours later there was a knock on the door. Standing in front of me, in a short coat and high heels, stood Felicia. Her legs were bare, showing the beautiful caramel gold of her skin. Her thick, coarse hair was intricately braided, making her doe-like eyes all the more prominent. Her exotic, islands mix was alluring, and the appeal was accentuated by her unique, patois accent when she spoke. The door was hardly closed before I had her up against it, kissing her, my hands trying to untie her coat.

Her throaty laugh was sexy as hell, and as my lips worked their way down her neck, she asked, "In a hurry, are we?"

I ground my straining erection against her in answer. Yes, I was in a hurry. I was desperate to exorcise Sookie Stackhouse from my brain. If I couldn't rationalize my way out of the predicament I was in, I sure as hell was going to try to fuck my way out of it. If I wasn't so damned wound up, I'd be able to think straight, right? I knew it was a giant rationalization for meaningless sex, but like they said in one of my favorite movies, "Don't knock rationalization. It's more important than sex." And yes, the irony of that quote is not lost on me.

Felicia let out a hungry moan as I continued to press myself against her, causing delicious friction in all the right places. Now it was my turn to chuckle and say, "Are you complaining?" I punctuated my question with a gentle tug on her earlobe, as I sucked on it.

"Not at all. Not. At. All." She replied, just as I finally managed to open her coat and was greeted by the sight of Felicia in nothing but some sexy, black, lacy panties, and a matching bra. She pushed me back and began to walk away from me, letting the coat fall carelessly to the floor, as she sauntered toward the bedroom in those incredible fucking heels. This is why I called Felicia. She knew what we were, and more importantly, she knew what we weren't.

So why was it, that as I followed her to my bedroom I found myself wondering if Sookie wore sexy lingerie as well?

A few hours later, after we flopped down side by side on the bed, sweaty and trying to catch our breath, Felicia turned to me and said, "So, who's Sookie, and why are you fucking me instead of her?"

I growled slightly at the mention of Sookie's name, but mostly out of embarrassment. I didn't think Felicia heard me when I'd whispered Sookie's name as I came. As if reading my mind, she said, "Don't worry big guy. You're not the first man to try to fuck a woman out of his system, and you're not the first to accidentally call out the wrong name. What interests me more, is that it is _you_! Eric Northman, confirmed bachelor and cynic regarding affairs of the heart, is apparently hung up on someone." Felicia teased, her lilting voice held a trace of laughter, and her eyes danced.

I managed an indignant "hurrumph," and she laughed out loud.

"C'mon, you grouch. Let's fire up that hot tub of yours, and you can tell me all about it while we soak."

Felicia and I had been friends since we were kids, and lovers on and off for most of our adult lives, but every once in a while, I still managed to forget how fucking perceptive she was. As we sipped our wine and soaked away the traces of sex from our body, I told her about Sookie.

Felicia just stared at me for minute, clearly deep in thought, and then began peppering me with questions.

"You said she seemed totally out of her element when she tried to seduce you at first, right?" When I nodded she continued, "So what makes you think she's actively playing some sort of game? Either she's a femme fatale or she's not, but you can't make her both, Eric. Also, from your description of it, it sounds to me like she's been putting this Compton guy off for the last couple of months, so don't you think that maybe, just maybe, that kiss was unsolicited? In fact, I almost pity the girl. You're teasing her, then you guys get cock-blocked by the Ice Princess, and then this Compton fellow seizes the moment to lay one her. No wonder she looked dazed when he walked away. I know I'd need a good, strong drink after."

I felt like a dumb ox. Why hadn't I thought of any of this? I'm an intelligent man. I shared my thoughts with Felicia, and once again I was a source of amusement for her. "Oh Eric, it's because she's got you all tied up in knots. You're falling for this girl."

"I most certainly am not! She's a student for fuck's sake, Felicia!"

Felicia just stared at me with a knowing look. "Eric, I've known you since before you had chest hair. I was the first person you told when you got first hard on, and your first wet dream. I knew you when In . . ." At a look from me she trailed off, but then continued, "I was there, Eric. I know you, and I'm telling you that no matter what 'precautions' you've taken," and she used her fingers to make air quotes, "you are falling for this girl. The question is what you're going to do about it."

I leaned my head back against the hot tub and closed my eyes. I wasn't ready to hear this. I wasn't ready to deal with the implications. Fuck, but she was right and that scared the shit out of me. Against my better judgment I said, "What do you suggest I do?"

Her face lit up, like I'd given her an early Christmas present, and she said, "You go for it Eric. You don't hold back. You need this. You deserve this."

I groaned, fear gripping my insides. "I can't, Felicia. I don't think I can do this."

She took my face in my hands and said, "You. Can. Do. This."

I was desperately looking for a way out. "I don't think so, Felicia. What if someone finds out? I could lose my job."

She snorted. "Since when do I care for establishment rules? Plus, you've got tenure. You'd probably just get a slap on the wrist, and anyway, it's not like you need the job."

"That's not the point Felicia. My reputation is important to me as well. I worked hard for this!"

"Eric, does your reputation keep you warm at night?"

I don't think I've ever won an argument with Felicia.

So that's how I found myself in my office the next day, impatiently wondering if Sookie was going to show up. I was following Felicia's advice. I should have known better. She was never one to follow the rules, and I was always getting in trouble when we were kids because I would always agree to her schemes.

I could still back out. Nothing had happened yet, and at that moment I chucked Felicia's advice out the window, and resolved that nothing would. I would be risking everything I'd worked so hard to achieve, and for what? A piece of ass? Honestly, could I get any more cliché? I decided to ignore every rational thing Felicia said the night before. All her points about Sookie made so much sense, but I didn't want sense. I wanted a reason to run. So I convinced myself that what I saw between her and Compton yesterday was real and, therefore, it was clear she really was only trying to use sex to further her grade. It was actually sad, since she was incredibly bright. Of course, this completely idiotic argument would have had much more effect if my body wasn't thrumming in anticipation of seeing her.

To take my mind off of her, I grabbed the manuscript off my desk and headed to the office next door. One of my colleagues had asked me for an honest assessment of his latest book. It wasn't half bad actually. Unfortunately, he wasn't in, and as I placed the document, along with my notes, through the mail slot in his door, I looked at the time once more. Five-forty-five. Fifteen more minutes and, one way or another, this torture would be over.

If she didn't show up, I'd know she wasn't serious and we could just move on as if nothing happened. If she did, well I resolved not to succumb to my baser nature.

So what if her very smell permeated my every thought? Every time I closed my eyes that night, I pictured the way her neck looked as I stood behind her. Her damp curls sticking to it, her perfume mixed with the smell that was just . . . her. As I'd brushed her hair from her neck, I'd wanted nothing more than to lick and bite her neck. The feeling was so overwhelming that I stepped back before I did something that would get me slapped.

Just the memory of it made me hard, and she haunted my dreams the entire night.

Then, the way she licked her lips looking at me. I groaned at the thought of her lips. Did she understand how utterly devastating it was when she bit and licked her lips like that? I'm sure she did. She was probably doing it on purpose to drive me mad and, oh God, did I really quote poetry to her? I was beyond cliché.

I sat at my desk, and readjusted my pants. Fuck. I tried to will away my hard on before she walked in.

At five past six, I realized she wasn't coming. I took a shaky breath and realized that I was very disappointed. I gave myself a mental shake. This was for the best. An affair with a student was the worst possible mistake.

Grabbing my jacket, I headed to the door. I yanked it open, startling the person on the other side. A purse hit the ground, and its contents scattered. I looked down to find Sookie on her knees before me as she gathered her belongings; she looked up at me and I realized her mouth was on level with my crotch.

She licked her lips and said, "I'm sorry I'm late, professor."

I could practically feel the heat from her breath on my dick. Fuck me. I was so screwed.


	7. Chapter 7

I was mortified. It was bad enough that I was late, but then to jump and squeal like a little girl, before dumping the entire contents of my purse on the floor, was just the icing on the cake.

I looked up at him and squeaked out a pathetic, "I'm sorry I'm late, professor." Then I realized where my face was and I just about died. I jumped up, which caused me to lose my balance. _Damned heels._ Amelia, and her fucking fashion sense, insisted I wear them. I probably would have fallen right on my ass, but he grabbed me by my arm and, instead, I found myself pressed up against him.

I felt my breath catch in my throat. He still had his hand wrapped around my arm, and my other hand was pressed against his chest. Oh, and what a chest it was. I could feel the chiseled and sculpted muscles underneath his crisp, white oxford. My hand slid slightly and, oh my God! Is that his nipple? I couldn't help myself and, of its own volition, my thumb just went and grazed it.

He jumped like I'd burned him, let go of my arm and stepped back into the room. I couldn't believe I did that! My hand flew to my mouth and, for the briefest of moments, I was tempted to lick that very same thumb. I think my tongue even made it as far as the edge of my lips before I realized what I was doing and bit my bottom lip instead.

"I said six sharp, Ms. Stackhouse," he scolded. "I don't like having my time wasted."

"I'm sorry, sir. One of the science clubs set off a volcano in the quad, and I guess they used too much . . . well, whatever it is they use, and it sort of went out of control, and they shut down part of the quad and it just took me forever to get here." Now I was babbling. Just great. I snapped my mouth shut.

I saw the corner of his mouth twitch in the start of a smile, and then he turned around and walked over to his desk. He grabbed a stack of something, and motioned to the couch.

"Please, Ms. Stackhouse, have a seat."

I sat down at one end. He sat at the other, but turned toward me. I realized he was holding a stack of blue books. He handed me half the stack and said, "You are going to help me grade these lower division exams, Ms. Stackhouse."

"Um, okay," I replied. I had done some grading for one of my other professors, so I wasn't unfamiliar with the process, but this was totally unexpected from him. I knew he didn't think highly of my writing or my arguments during class, therefore, I was quite surprised that he trusted me to grade papers for him. Then again, this was for a lower-division, non-English major class, so I suppose he thought even someone like me should be able to handle this.

We sat there in silence, working together for over an hour. At first it was a bit awkward. Just the day before I had tried to seduce the man, was then humbled into doing his filing, and then I'm pretty sure he was going to kiss me, yet now we were casually sitting, side-by-side, grading papers as if it were the most normal thing in the world. I shook my head slightly. Obviously he wasn't going to risk his job and his reputation to mess with someone like me, and that assumes he was even interested. Oh sure, it seemed like he was going to kiss me, but really how do I know? He probably would have stopped even if Pam hadn't barged in. In fact, I'm pretty sure he was relieved that she did. She wasn't happy with her grade either, and I'm sure _she_ didn't have to do any filing to get her grade up. Pam was gorgeous, and every man on campus and no few women either, wanted her. I mentally slapped my forehead. Of course _he_ would want her, and if he wanted someone like her, what the hell would he ever see in someone like me?

Then my mind drifted to Bill, and that kiss he left me with. He had been chasing after me all semester so far, professing his love for me, and trying to get me to get back together with him. I was actually starting to get annoyed by it. Only that conversation, and that kiss, by the trees had my head spinning. _I will never stop wanting you. You are mine, Sookie._ I shuddered slightly at the memory, and was surprised at the tingle I felt in my stomach. There is something incredibly appealing about that kind of passion, and hearing that kind of certainty and desire. I couldn't go back to Bill though, could I? Oh, I knew what Amelia thought.

On the way home from my impromptu filing session and Bill's stupefying kiss, I had stopped and bought a nice, big bottle of Tanqueray, tonic, and plenty of lemons. Amelia and I were going to need them. I told her about my day, as we worked our way through the bottle. It took forever just to get through the stuff that happened with the professor, and by then we were both feeling no pain, which, if you ask me, was a very good thing, because my time in his office had been painful, well for me anyway.

"He quoted Herrick?"

I nodded.

"Oh my God! That's . . . that's like porn!"

"Amelia! Herrick's poetry is beautiful, and erotic, it's not porn!"

"Whatever Sooks, that's just fucking hot! He totally wants you."

"No he doesn't, Amelia. He was just teasing me. Besides, Pam came in." At her puzzled look I continued, "Pam Ravenscroft . . . you know, tall, blond, gorgeous."

Amelia snorted. "What?" I asked.

"She bats for the other team." She said conspiratorially.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"I just do. I know these things, Sooks. Never doubt me on matters of the heart, and I'm telling you, the dear professor wants you."

I snorted, and then asked her if she wanted to hear the rest. When I got to the part with Bill, she immediately started cursing up a storm. She called him a few names even I, who had worked in a bar, hadn't heard.

"Amelia! Do you want to hear this or not?" She said that she did, and when she finally settled back down I told her everything he said, and about the kisses, particularly the last one. To say she was pissed was a bit of an understatement.

"That self-serving son-of-a-bitch!" She exclaimed. "He thinks he has the right to get jealous? _He_ doesn't like the way Professor Northman is looking at you? _He_ thinks he has to come to your rescue? _He_ thinks he can lay _claim_ to you now? _He_ thinks he can get to make you feel guilty? Where are my dolls?"

Amelia grew up in New Orleans and fancied herself a practitioner of magic and voodoo. In truth, all I'd ever seen her do was bust out some tarot cards, and light some candles and incense, but what the hell do I know? I'm a lapsed Baptist. As soon as Gran's funeral was over, I never stepped foot back in that church. I only ever went for her. My faith in God never recovered from the loss of my parents.

"Amelia, stop it! We're not going to go off cursing Bill just yet." I said as I handed her another gin and tonic. "Plus, what if he's right? What if I am just lying to myself? I felt something when he kissed me, Amelia, it stirred something, and maybe that something was just some old memories, but damned if he didn't leave me breathless."

Amelia started in on how I could never trust him again, him being a lying, cheating bastard of course, and how I shouldn't sell myself short, and that there were plenty of guys who would be lining up to go out with me.

I snorted at her. "Amelia, men have never, ever, lined up to go out with me, and they aren't going to start now." I held up my hand as she started to argue with me. "As for trusting Bill . . . lots of couples get past infidelity. They get counseling. They don't just throw away a couple of years because of one mistake." Maybe I was just trying to convince myself. The truth was, getting back together with Bill seemed so much easier than the prospect of more crash and burns like today.

We talked around and around the issue, until finally we agreed to disagree, but Amelia made me promise that _if_ I decided to give Bill a chance, I would take it slow and not throw myself back into a full-time committed relationship. However, she made a point of telling me that she was still going to look for her dolls. I don't _think_ she was serious.

Only then did I remember to tell her that the professor told me I could come back the next day to continue earning extra credit. She asked if I was planning on going, but I told her I wasn't going to. I was too embarrassed. The entire situation was an exercise in humiliation for me, and I would do better to just suck it up with the grade I got on the paper and work really hard on the next one.

"Of course you should go, Sookie! You need to show him that you aren't afraid, that you're a strong, intelligent woman. You aren't afraid, are you?" She asked squinting at me.

Amelia knew exactly what buttons to push. No one and I mean no one, accused Stackhouses of being cowards. So that's how the next afternoon I found myself, once again, the focus of Amelia's Barbie World. I balked at first. I wasn't going there to seduce him this time; I didn't need to be fussed over.

"Nonsense." She said. "We're going for a professional look here. One that says, 'I'm a woman, but you'd better take me seriously.'" I have to admit, a pencil skirt and twin-set was rather proper. At the last minute, however, as Amelia was handing me my panty hose, she shrieked, "Oh no! I snagged them!"

I cursed at that point. It was my last pair of hose, and it had gotten a bit cooler out in the evenings. No way was I going with bare legs.

"Don't worry Sooks, I'm sure I've got something." She reassured me, and dashed back to her room. A few minutes later she returned with something in her hand.

"Here ya go." She said, and handed me a pair of thigh high stockings, and garters.

"Amelia! Don't you have a pair of hose?"

She scrunched up her nose. "Eeeww, no! I never wear hose. Lingerie is much nicer. Plus, it's very empowering. Just put it on, you'll see." I thought, just for a second, that I saw a smirk on her face, but when I looked again she was all innocence.

I had to admit, there was something very sexy and empowering about wearing them. I finished it all off with a thong so I wouldn't have any panty lines, and then rushed out the door. Well, it was empowering until I had to run like the dickens, trying to get to the professor's office on time. And then . . . _oh no_. I had to stop thinking about that. I couldn't believe I embarrassed myself in front of him again. It's a wonder he thought I had enough brains to grade even these sorry excuses for exams. Honestly, they were. I couldn't believe people managed to graduate high school with these writing skills.

After a while, I realized it was quite warm in the office, so I removed my little sweater. I grabbed a clip from my bag, twisted my hair and pinned it in back. As I pulled my pen from between my lips, where I stashed it while I was occupied, I looked up to find him staring at me. His blue eyes flashed hungrily at me and flowed over me, finally stopping at my legs, which, I belatedly realized were exposed more than I intended, revealing the stockings and garters beneath.

Oops.


	8. Chapter 8

I was about to step back, when I think _she_ realized where her face was and jumped up. I saw that she was about to fall backwards, so without even thinking about it, I grabbed her arm and pulled her forward, right into me.

God, she felt so good pressed up against my side like that. I resisted the urge to nuzzle my face in her hair and smell her. I felt her little hand up against my chest, then it moved and I felt an electric jolt as she ran her thumb across my nipple. My dick jerked in response, and I had to jump back to keep from taking her right there in the hallway. I watched as her hand flew to her face in embarrassment but then, and I nearly groaned out loud when I saw it, her tongue flicked out like she was going to lick her thumb. All I could think about was having that tongue wrapped around something else.

"I said six sharp Ms. Stackhouse," I barked a bit more gruffly than I intended, but I was desperate to get a measure of control over the situation. I wasn't some amateur, and she was a student. I had to get it together. Hadn't I just decided I wasn't going to let this happen? Only right then she was putting a serious dent in my resolve. I tried to shore it up, and snipped, "I don't like having my time wasted."

She started babbling something about the quad and a volcano, but I hardly heard a word. I was just taking in the sight of her in her tight little skirt and twin set, and these amazing, come-fuck-me heels. God, the way they made her legs look. It should be illegal to allow women to wear shoes like that out of the house. How the hell are we supposed to think straight when they do that? My mind conjured images of her wearing nothing but those shoes,of her walking towards me naked but for the heels, or her legs wrapped around my waist, while the heels dug into my ass, pushing me deeper. _Fuck_ , I whimpered internally. I think she realized I wasn't really paying attention, because she suddenly snapped her mouth shut and looked very flustered. I couldn't help but smile, so I turned to my desk to hide it.

I grabbed the stack of blue books from my desk. I hated grading these lower division exams; however, except for the longest tenured professors, we all had to do our time in lower division classes. This particular class was for non-English majors, so the work was exceptionally poor. If the horror of these exams wasn't enough to dampen my libido, I didn't know what else would.

I indicated the couch, and she sat down on one end, her legs delicately crossed, while I took the other side. Once again I realized that I'd probably made a huge mistake. Sitting this close to her I was overwhelmed by her scent, and after a minute I realized that yes, it was a huge fucking mistake. I had no idea how the hell I was going to concentrate on anything with her this close to me, but it would be too obvious if I suddenly got up and changed my seat. _Man up_ , I told myself. I'd had women throwing themselves at me most of my life, and I never had a reaction like this. _Bullshit. You've had this reaction._ I shook my head. I didn't want to think about that, I wouldn't think about it, but at least it had the effect of clearing my head of Sookie, somewhat. I was going to be in control. _I was going to be in control._ It became a mantra of sorts. I handed her half the stack of exams, and told her she was going to help me grade them. She actually took it well, and we sat in companionable silence for a while as we read over them.

Every so often I would look up at her and notice her sucking on her pen, and my insides clenched. So much for being in control. I was completely obsessed with her mouth. I couldn't stop staring at it, and it didn't help that she kept nibbling on her pen, or her lip, or darting her tongue out to lick her lips. I was convinced that Herrick's Julia had nothing on this woman's lips. I tried not to imagine what those pretty lips would look like wrapped around my cock, or what her pink little tongue would look like as she ran it over the tip. I tried, and failed miserably. I just couldn't get the image of her, on her knees in front of me, my dick sliding in and out of her mouth, to stop playing through my head. I closed my eyes, and shifted slightly to ease my discomfort. I forced myself back to the task at hand. I looked down at the exam I was working on, but I felt like a damned boomerang, shuttling back and forth between my dual desire to remain in control and take her there on my couch.

I thought about Felicia's words of advice. _Could I do it? Could I take that chance?_ I just didn't know. I had worked very hard to craft this life for myself, to make sure that something like this didn't happen. I worked. I wrote. I had drinks with my colleagues. I attended the social affairs that were required of me, and I always found lovely arm candy to accompany me. I never, ever came back for seconds, and I most certainly did not let anyone in. Screw Felicia's advice. I had a system that worked for me, and it didn't include fucking coeds on my office couch. No, I couldn't take that chance. I wouldn't. No. There was too much risk, and too much opportunity for pain. I tried to think about the risks to my job, and my reputation, but Felicia's words kept haunting me— _does your reputation keep you warm at night?_

Movement brought me out of my reverie and I watched, entranced as she removed her little sweater, exposing the camisole underneath. Her breasts were magnificent and I could see the nipples straining against the fabric. Dear God, she wasn't wearing a bra! This woman was going to be the death of me. Then she put her pen in her mouth, and in a swift and practiced movement pulled up her hair, exposing her gorgeous neck. I looked down and realized that her movements had hiked up her skirt, revealing thigh high stockings held up by a garter belt.

_Oh fuck!_

I felt my dick harden immediately, and moved my pile of blue books onto my lap. I couldn't stop staring at her, drinking in the sight before me. I've never seen anyone so innocently erotic in my life, and it was taking every ounce of willpower I had not to attack her. I tried to turn away. I tried to force myself to stop staring at her, but I was mesmerized. She removed her pen from her mouth, licking her lips as she did so, then her eyes found mine, and at that moment I was undone. I looked over her appreciatively again, and that's when she realized her skirt had moved. I saw that beautiful flush creep over her face, but when she looked up at me, I'd swear I saw the glimmer of a smile start at the corner of her mouth.

How was I supposed to resist this? What was it Mae West said? "I generally avoid temptation unless I can't resist it." Well, I hadn't avoided it, and I didn't think it was possible to resist it. I needed to touch. I needed to feel her skin under my fingers. She brought out something utterly primal and base in me, the need to possess. I wanted to possess her, completely. I wanted to feel her passion. I wanted to see her give herself over to me. _I, I, I, I . . ._ I was being selfish, and greedy, and I didn't give a flying fuck. I _wanted_. I wanted her with a burning need I had not felt in nearly fifteen years.

She looked down, and moved her hand as if to tug her skirt back into place. Without even thinking about it, I moved my hand and covered hers, stopping her. I felt a surge of heat, a current, at our touch, but I didn't move yet. I bore my eyes into hers, waiting for her to stop me, because I was utterly incapable of stopping myself. I wanted, and I needed, and I was going to be a selfish bastard unless she stopped me.


	9. Chapter 9

I felt the start of a smile at the corner of my mouth and quickly looked down. _Finally!_ I had finally gotten his attention. Better yet, I did it without even meaning to. I still wasn't planning on doing anything, not anymore, but it did feel good to be looked at like that. I had to remember to thank Amelia for the stockings, particularly since I have no doubt she "accidentally-on-purpose" snagged my hose. The professor looked a bit flustered. _Good,_ I thought. I was enjoying this a little too much. Amelia was right; the stockings did make me feel empowered, and right then I was really enjoying the fact that I just might be leaving him as frustrated as he had left me the day before.

Between the professor and Bill, and all the gin and tonics, I'd gone to my bed one exceptionally horny and frustrated woman. I tried to go to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was either Professor Northman leaning in to kiss me, or Bill's breathtaking kiss, and the feel of his hardness grinding into me. My fingers trailed over my lips as I imagined the professor's mouth on mine. I pictured the professor kissing me as Bill had, desperate and full of want. My hand slid down until my fingertips reached my nipples, already hard and sensitive with desire. I pinched and pulled on them until I was arching my back into my own hands. In my mind's eye, it was his lips, and teeth, and tongue, tormenting and teasing me. As his mouth worked its way down my body, his tongue skillfully preparing me for him, my hand found my clit, and I began to rub circles over it. I was so pent up that it was no time before I came, shuddering with my release. I rolled over and fell asleep, relieved but hardly sated.

Regardless of how frustrated I had been the day before, however, I was not there to seduce him this time, so I reached down to the hem of my skirt, intending on pulling it back down, when I felt his large hand clamp down on mine. My breathing hitched and my stomach flipped as I registered the electricity that seemed to generate from our touch. How could such a simple touch elicit this response? In retrospect, I suppose it wasn't such a simple touch.

I looked back up at him and his eyes were staring into mine, transmitting pure, unadulterated desire. I was pinned by his gaze. I couldn't look away if I wanted to. I don't think anyone has ever looked at me with such . . . _want_ before. Just the way he was devouring me with his eyes set my blood ablaze. It was smoldering, and intense, and I realized I was oh so very, very screwed. He paused after his hand lay on mine, and it seemed he was silently seeking permission to continue. He took my silence for tacit approval, and slowly, ever so painfully slowly, he slid my hand up my thigh, taking my skirt with it, never taking his eyes off mine.

He had not touched anything but my hand, yet I could already feel the moisture pooling in my panties. After a moment, he moved my hand aside, and then pressed down on it, silently communicating to me not to move it. I didn't. In fact, I was afraid to breathe. I was afraid to do anything that might make him stop. His hand slid to the inside of my thigh, as his long fingers began to skim my skin with the lightest of touches. I had never been this aroused in my entire life. This was not the cool, confident, and familiar touch of Bill's hands. The professor's touch was hot, and his fingertips fiery. They were foreign, and this was all so very wrong, and I had never wanted anything more.

He finally released my gaze, and watched as his fingers trailed down, stopping to play with the lace of my garter, and then ghosting down to the back of my knee. His thumb rubbed circles along the side and then he whispered, "Show me thy feet, show me thy legs, thy thighs, show me those fleshy principalities; show me that hill where smiling love doth sit, having a living fountain under it; show me thy waist: then let me there withal, by the ascension of thy lawn, see all."

Again he was quoting Herrick. I love Herrick. He is the master of seventeenth-century love poetry and, in my opinion, one of the most erotic poets. Amelia thought it was porn, and maybe it was the seventeenth-century equivalent. All I know is that no one else had ever made Herrick sound so wanton, and decadent. Hearing him recite that poem, his voice husky with desire . . . oh hell yes there was a living fountain, and it had sprung a leak.

His hand trailed back up my leg, his touch firmer now, and our eyes found each others' once more and locked, afraid to look away and end the moment, afraid, perhaps, of allowing the realization of what we were doing make us behave responsibly, and I didn't want responsible. I didn't want proper, and right, and rules. I wanted impropriety. I wanted to break the rules. I wanted _him,_ more than I had ever wanted anything before. He leaned forward slightly, as his hand slid further up . . . and up . . . and up. I felt his nimble fingers brush over my center, and heard a low growl of appreciation rumble in his chest as he felt how wet I was for him. I felt him brush over me once more, as if he was hesitating, and then with the smoothest of moves, he pushed aside the fabric and slid his finger into me.

A breathy moan escaped me as my head fell back. I heard a whispered, "fuck" come from him as a second finger joined the first, and the heat of him filled me. Another strangled cry came from me as his thumb found my clit, and I felt my hips buck in response.

"Look at me," he demanded in his whiskey sex voice, as he slowly worked me with his fingers. My eyes found his and I was fixed by his stare. Fire and ice crackled in his glacier blue eyes and I knew, at that moment, that I was in way over my head, but I couldn't bring myself to care. I was drowning, and happily breathing in my liquid death.

It was exquisite torture at first. His fingers were moving slowly, in and out, and his thumb was tracing lazy circles over my clit. My hips tried to grind down, seeking more friction, but he leaned forward more and pinned me with his other hand, his eyes never leaving mine. Soon, however, the pace quickened and he was thrusting deep into me, seeking something. He crooked his fingers on a particularly deep thrust, and a moment later I was balling my sweater in my mouth to stifle my scream as my orgasm tore through me. His fingers continued playing me, slowing down as I rode out the last waves of pleasure. As the spasms began to fade, and I had resolved to return the favor, a loud knock startled me out of my pleasure induced trance.

"Northman, you there?"

He withdrew his fingers.

"Yes Worthington."

"You want to grab a drink and talk about your comments?"

He brought them to his mouth, sucked on them and licked them clean.

"I would love to."

He stood and I straightened my skirt.

He opened the door, grabbed his jacket from the coat rack and said, "I expect to find those exams completed and on my desk by morning."

Then he walked out with Professor Adam Worthington and, finally, broke eye contact.


	10. Chapter 10

As I walked away with Worthington, I thanked God, Allah, the Olympic pantheon, the Norse gods, and whatever other divine powers there are that I left my jacket in the office the day before. It was draped over my arm, which I held in front of me, effectively concealing the raging hard on I was trying, and hopelessly failing, to will away.

It was a short walk to the nearby pub, and I was grateful that we were able to find a booth in a dark corner to help me hide my condition. I hoped the normality of our usual haunt would snap me out of it.

I hated walking out on Sookie like that, but I had scrawled Worthington a note when I dropped his manuscript back off, to check with me before he left so we could have a drink and talk about it. I hadn't planned on losing my mind in the interim, but damn it, she called to me like a siren, and since I, apparently, dropped my brain somewhere down in my dick, I let her lead me right into the rocks.

The waitress came by and took our drink orders. Worthington ordered his usual black and tan, and he raised a brow at me when I ordered a double shot of whiskey.

"Exams?" He asked knowingly.

"You have no fucking idea." I replied.

"Actually, I do, but it looked like you had some uh, nice help there," he said with a smirk and a wink.

"Eh, she's just an over-zealous coed looking for some extra credit," I said waving my hand dismissively, derision clear in my tone. "At least I won't have to grade all of them." I hated belittling her like that, but shit, I couldn't let Worthington even begin to _think_ that something was happening between Sookie and me.

I mean, what was I supposed to say? _No, I'm drinking like this because I'm coming completely undone by one of my students who, by the way, I finger fucked to a spectacular orgasm moments before you knocked on my door, and whose very presence in my classroom has been making me insane all semester?_

It would take all of five minutes after he left me for Worthington to start spreading that around and, five hours later I'd be brought up before the disciplinary committee and praying that I could still get a job at the local junior college.

What was I doing? This was beyond insane. I was risking everything I had worked for. I'm the youngest professor ever to be offered tenure here. I was published. After completing extensive revisions, I had turned my doctoral dissertation into a manuscript that had been published by Stanford University Press and then honored by the MLA with the Prize for a First Book. I was also well respected by my peers. Perhaps I had a reputation as a bit of a Lothario, since I never attended an event with the same woman, but I was discreet and kept it out of the school.

Until that evening. She was breaching my defenses, ones I had worked hard at creating, and I had no idea how, or why. She utterly stole my resolve and self-control, like a succubus. I only wished I could blame it on such absurd mythology, but I couldn't. It was my own weakness, my own selfish, libido-driven idiocy that was to blame. I was a fucking bastard who was thinking with his dick, and the only thing it was thinking about was getting inside that incredible space I'd just walked away from.

 _I walked away from._ I couldn't even begin to imagine what she was thinking of me right then. Screw Worthington; she should have reported me to the disciplinary committee herself. I was an asshole of unmitigated proportions. Why didn't I just tell Worthington that something came up? I could have lied. I didn't have to walk out on her. _Yes you did, because you got scared. You're a coward._ I growled at my own subconscious. _And shit! Did you really tell her to finish the exams by morning?_ I wasn't just an asshole and a coward; I was the most selfish piece of crap on the earth at that moment.

I realized that Worthington had asked me a question, and I searched my mind for the appropriate response. I rubbed my face, trying to snap out of it. Big mistake. Her smell was still on my hand, and I had to stifle the low moan that threatened to escape.

I had to get out of there. I made up some excuse, promised Worthington we'd discuss his manuscript some more another time, and hurried home. When I got there, I threw my jacket on the back of a chair and sank down heavily onto my couch. I brought my hand to my face and, once again, inhaled the scent of her.

"Fuck." I closed my eyes and the scene began to replay itself on the back of my lids.

When I saw her move to cover herself, I reacted without even thinking, because clearly, if I had been thinking, I would have remembered that was _exactly_ what I said I was not going to do. But damn, I was not ready to give up the view of her fantastic legs, and her sexy-as-hell lingerie. My hand closed on her tiny one, and immediately I felt an electric current between us. When she didn't stop me, I used her hand to slowly slide her skirt up higher, revealing more of her beautiful and tanned legs.

I held her hand in place, silently willing her not to move. I broke my gaze so I could look at those amazing legs as I traced my fingers down her thigh, ghosting over the soft skin until I reached her knee. Once again I found myself quoting poetry, but it was such a charged, erotic moment that I felt compelled to grace it with something equally sensual.

I moved my hand back up her leg, and smoothed my palm against the inside of her thigh, reveling in the feel of her skin. It was soft and smooth under my touch. I looked back up at her face. She was so beautiful and her eyes drew me in, locked my gaze, and refused to release me. I was afraid if I looked away, she would realize how inappropriate this was and run away.

I reached the top of her leg and, for a moment, I hesitated. _Do I take this further?_ I couldn't help myself. I brushed my fingers across her center and growled as I felt the moist fabric. Fuck, she was already so wet. I brushed against her again as I debated my next move. I knew I shouldn't. I knew it was wrong, and I was risking more than just my job. It was in direct contradiction of everything I had been telling myself, but I _had_ to feel her. I _had_ to be inside her. It was like I was being driven to do it, so I pushed aside the small scrap of fabric and slid a finger into her.

Her head fell back and she moaned with pleasure. I knew I could not stop, and I never wanted to. Dear God, she was so wet, and hot and tight. A whispered "fuck" escaped me, as I slid another finger into her. I looked at her, her head thrown back in obvious pleasure; her eyes were closed and her mouth was open as she panted lightly. She was desire and sex incarnate.

I flicked her clit with my thumb and felt her buck against my hand. I needed to see her, to watch her beautiful face as she came—as she came for me.

"Look at me." I demanded, and her eyes locked onto mine. I was lost, adrift, and drowning in _her_. I was achingly hard, but all I wanted was to watch the ecstasy on her face. I moved my fingers slowly at first, letting the pleasure build. Oh, but she was so impatient, and she thrust her hips down into my hand, seeking more. I leaned forward slightly, and with my other hand, pinned her to the sofa, never breaking eye contact with her. She was flushed with desire and breathing heavily, and a few wisps of her hair came down and framed her face. She was absolutely stunning in her wantonness. I began to move my fingers faster, going deeper, and then I crooked them and sought out her g-spot. Within moments she was biting her sweater in an effort to suppress her screams. I could feel her walls clenching my fingers and, once again, was struck by how tight and hot she felt as she spasmed around hand, and imagined how she would feel around my dick. I nearly came in my pants at the thought. I kept touching her, refusing to stop, but slowing down as she rode out her orgasm.

"Shit." By the end of my instant replay I was hard as a rock again. This girl had my body reacting like a teenage boy's. I couldn't remember the last time I got hard so many times in a day. I unzipped my pants and began to stroke myself.

I closed my eyes once more and pictured her face as she came. Her eyes never left mine and I had never seen anything as exquisite. I remember thinking that I couldn't wait to taste her, to bring her to that point again, and again, and again.

Instead of the feast I had imagined, I was only allowed a brief taste, forced to lick my fingers clean, and nothing more, and God, did she taste divine. No one had ever tasted so good to me, and I had a sudden fear that no one would again. Just remembering her taste was enough to send me over the edge, and with one final thrust into my hand, I came hard and loud.

I got up to clean myself off and, once again, berated my libido's total lack of control. I had crafted my life specifically so that this would never, could never, happen. Not again. _Never again._ It was not going to happen, so why torment myself with maybes and could-have-beens? Fuck Felicia. I was warm enough at night when I wanted to be.

No, this was going to stop. It _had_ to stop. It could not happen again. I had to break Sookie's hold over me. I just wasn't sure how. To start with, I would not meet with her behind closed doors anymore. It was just too great a temptation. I threw the wash cloth into the hamper and looked at myself in the mirror.

"You're doing the right thing," I told my reflection.

So why did I feel like someone had sucked the air out of the room?


	11. Chapter 11

What. The. Fuck. I sat on the couch in his office completely stunned. He walked out on me, and did he tell me to have the exams on his desk in the morning? I was livid. With shaking legs, I gathered my things, including the rest of the exams, and made my way home. It was a measure of my turmoil that I actually gathered them up, instead of just leaving them where they fell. It would have served him right.

Thankfully, Amelia had a date with her on again, off again, boyfriend Tray, and wouldn't be home for the rest of the night, so at least I wouldn't have to give her a recap. I wasn't sure how I felt about sharing this with her now that it, whatever _it_ was, happened. This had clearly morphed from trying to seduce him for a grade, an insane idea to begin with, to some sort of perverse game. What if she slipped and told someone? He would lose his job, and I'd forever be branded as "that girl" who fooled around with her professor.

It had, without a doubt, been the single most erotic experience of my life. Not only were his fingers incredibly talented, bringing me to the most unbelievable orgasm I'd ever had, but the intensity of the moment was breathtaking. The way his eyes held mine, watching me as I came, was the most intimate moment of my life. A shiver ran through me as I replayed it. Then the way he looked at me as he licked my juices from his fingers, as if I was the sweetest dessert. I groaned at the thought, and felt my panties get wet all over again.

The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I had a right to be angry. Sure, a part of me felt like I'd just been used, but then again, I was the only one who had gotten off. It wasn't like he just kicked me out of bed or something. There had been someone at the door, another professor, and he was probably afraid of getting caught. Still, he could have said no to the drink. He could have asked for a few more minutes at least! I just couldn't understand it, though. What was he so afraid of? We'd given nothing away. I looked at the pile of exams and scoffed. No way was I going to grade them now. No, I was going to take them back to his office, first thing in the morning, and throw them in his face.

I made myself something to eat, watched a little television, and then went to bed, but I couldn't fall asleep. What did this mean? Did it even mean anything to him? I found myself already desperate to feel his hands on me again, and that scared and pissed me off, because I was pretty sure this was just a game to him. What interest, beyond the obvious, could he possibly have in someone like me? Was I a toy? Something shiny and new, and when he tired of the game he would toss me aside? Did he play this every semester, with some new coed? And did I even care if it was just a game to him? The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I didn't. I wanted him, and if that meant playing his game, so be it, but first he was going to have to realize that I wasn't some bimbo he could just toss about.

First thing the next morning, I made my way to his office. I decided to be brazen, so after taking a deep breath, I stormed in without knocking. He was standing with his back to me, and when I burst in and slammed the door, he whirled to face me, his long hair whipping about. The startled look on his face made him look younger, like a child caught misbehaving, and for just a brief moment, he seemed completely unguarded. He was so beautiful, my breath nearly caught.

I wasn't going to be deterred by his beauty, though. I marched over to him, and threw the blue books on the couch. "Grade your own exams." I fumed at him. His eyes on mine were wild, like a cornered animal, and the primal reaction I saw reflected in them nearly made me take a step back. I thought I saw his nostrils flare in anger; however, he quickly recovered his equilibrium and strode to his desk, putting space between us. If I didn't know better, I would have thought he was afraid of me.

"Miss Stackhouse," he began, but I cut him off.

"How dare you?" I seethed, and took another step towards him. He took another step back, getting behind his desk. I followed him. "You can't do that! You can't give someone a mind-blowing orgasm like that, and then just walk away! And then you tell me to grade your fucking exams! Are you serious?" He didn't say anything, just stood there with this pained look on his face, his fists clenched by his side. "Well, say something!" I stepped closer to him once more, and poked him in the chest. "What, no pretty words now?"

For a moment nothing happened, and I realized the only sound in the room, other than my breathing, were the ethereal voices of Benedictine monks singing Gregorian chants. I vaguely remember finding the choice oddly soothing, but I pushed the thought away as I tried to cling to my anger.

Suddenly the pained look on his face was gone, and his hand grabbed my wrist as I was about to poke his chest again. He pulled me to him, his other arm snaking around my waist, and crashed his lips to mine. I was stunned. I definitely wasn't expecting this reaction, and at first I didn't respond. Yet his lips were full and soft, and his mouth was hot and insistent, and I whimpered lightly—trying to deny the feel of him and retain my righteous indignation—before I found myself kissing him back. His hand moved up my back to my neck, and held my head in place as he deepened the kiss. My lips parted, and I felt his tongue softly explore my mouth, tasting me. My heart was hammering in my chest. No one and I mean no one, not even Bill the other day, had kissed me like this, with so much need, and want, and passion. It actually made my knees weak, and I had always believed that was just a cliché. He pulled back a little and sucked lightly on my lower lip, and then he brought his large hands to either side of my face, and looked at me, his eyes glazed over with desire. I lost myself in their blue depths, and I could hear my breathing and it sounded like I'd run a mile. He closed his eyes for a moment, and shook his head, and when he reopened them I thought I heard him whisper something, and then he growled and pushed me against the desk. At that point all rational thought flew out of my head, as one of my greatest fantasies seemed about to come true. His hands were frantically caressing me, and he was peppering my mouth, my jaw, and my neck with kisses, leaving a trail of scorched skin in his wake. I had never been more turned on, and imagined him sweeping the papers off his desk in order to take me right on it.

I was moaning into his mouth, and my hands found their way into his glorious hair and tugged roughly. I heard a deep rumble of appreciation in his chest. He pulled me even closer to him, and I could feel the very impressive length of his erection pressing into my hip. I ground against him in response, eliciting a satisfying groan from him, and I couldn't help but smile against his lips. I nipped at his neck, and his collarbone, and my hand slid down to rub him through the fabric of his pants. "Fuck!" I heard him whisper, before his mouth descended on mine once again. His hands reached the bottom of my shirt, and slipped under, caressing my skin as they worked their way up. His thumbs found my nipples, and rubbed across the lace covering them, sending little shocks coursing through me.

Then, suddenly, there was a knock at the door. _You have got to be kidding me!_ I thought. We both froze, our lips still touching, and his hands still on my breasts. "Eric? It's Niall. May I come in?" _Oh shit!_ Niall LeFay, head of the English department. The man was a scholastic legend in his own right, and someone who I would have dearly loved to meet, just not at that exact moment. I looked around the room in a panic, and my eyes rose to the mirror. I was mess. My lips were swollen, and my face was flushed, and there was no hiding what was going on. "Shit." I heard him curse.

The door started to open, and I dropped to my knees and hid in the only spot I could find: under his desk. His eyes looked panicked, and I couldn't blame him for it. He cleared his throat and said, "Niall! Please, come in. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

This wasn't happening, not again. I shook my head in frustration. The two of them exchanged pleasantries, and then sat down. The professor's long legs came around either side of me, and I nearly laughed at the insanity of the situation. I looked up, and was greeted by the sight of his very impressive bulge. A wicked thought crossed my mind, and before I could talk myself out of it, I placed my hands on the inside of each of his thighs, and slowly slid them up. I felt him tense and cough, and I had to bite back my laughter. Oh, this was going to be fun. I felt him try to back up, but I dug my fingers into his thighs, so instead he scooted forward in his seat, making sure his crotch was hidden by the desk.

I ran my nails lightly up and down his thighs, and I could hear the tension in his voice as he spoke to his boss. I quickly unbuttoned his pants, and as quietly as possible I brought down the zipper. I was instantly greeted by the sight of his thick, hard length. Oh my God! The man had gone commando. He shifted slightly in his seat, as my hand reached in and pulled him all the way out. I stroked him lightly, and then ran my thumb across the tip, feeling a drop of wetness, before I leaned forward and took him in my mouth. His leg jerked, and his knee hit the bottom of his desk.

"Are you alright?" I heard LeFay ask. I might have laughed out loud, but my mouth was otherwise occupied.

"Fine, fine. Just a cramp. I had a long swim this morning."

I tuned out their conversation once more, and concentrated on the beautiful specimen before me. He tasted so good, and I flicked my tongue over his slit, lapping up the beads of moisture that were pooling there. I was enjoying the feel of his slick skin in my mouth, and I ran my tongue along the vein on the underside, smiling as he twitched in my hand. I resumed sucking him, taking in as much as I could, while my hand stroked the rest. I have to say, a part of me also felt a perverse thrill at having him like this with religious music playing in the background. Like I've said, God and I had not seen eye-to-eye since I lost my parents, so in my mind the music fit the naughtiness of our entire situation to a "t," plus it had the added benefit of masking any sounds I was making.

"Are you sure you're alright?" LeFay asked once more, and I felt my smile tug at the corners of my mouth as the professor's legs tensed on either side of me.

"Yes. I think I may have just over exerted myself this morning."

"Very well. Eric, I want you to seriously consider the offer. I know how you feel about being too far away, given your situation, but this is a once in a lifetime opportunity."

"I know, and I appreciate it. I will most definitely consider it. Thank you."

I heard a chair scrape back, and then LeFay said, "No, no. Don't get up. Take it easy. I know you don't want to become a saggy, old man like me, but really Eric, you shouldn't over do it. Why don't you come over for dinner tonight, and we can discuss it more?"

"That sounds lovely, thank you," he replied. Then I heard footsteps, and the sounds of the door opening and closing.

He pushed his chair back slightly, and I felt his hands go to my head and his fingers twine themselves into my hair.

"Fuck!" He growled, as he thrust his hips. I felt him hit the back of my throat, and with more freedom of movement, I adjusted and took him in further, increasing my pace and adding a twist to the strokes of my hand.

I felt his legs tense, and his hands tighten in my hair, and I knew he was close. I relaxed my throat and let him go deeper. I heard a string of profanities escape his lips a moment before I felt his release hit my throat. I swallowed all of it, and then looked up at him as I let him slip from my mouth. His eyes were shut tight, his head was thrown back, and his hands were still entangled in my hair. As if he knew he was being watched, he opened his eyes and looked at me, the haze of his orgasm still apparent in his eyes. His hands released my head, and briefly, one of them brushed my hair from my face. It was such a tender gesture, and he looked so lost, that I nearly curled up in his lap just to give him a hug.

It took all my willpower not to throw myself at him, however, and I stood up, adjusted my clothes, and without a word I walked to the door. Just before I walked out, I dared to look at him. He was sitting there, still looking dazed and confused. For the briefest moment, I thought I saw defeat in his eyes, but I must have misread him. As I opened the door and started to walk out, I finally said, "I'll see you in class."

I shut the door, leaned against the wall, and licked my lips. His taste was still faintly there, and I thought to myself, that whoever said revenge was sweet was so very, very right.


	12. Chapter 12

I woke up the next morning hard as a rock, and I groaned in frustration. It had taken me hours to fall asleep the night before thanks, to Sookie Stackhouse. All I could do was replay the events of that morning over and over in my head. Every time I closed my eyes to try and sleep, I felt the hot, moist suction of her mouth, and pictured the way her pretty lips looked wrapped around my dick.

The night before had been no better, and despite my decision to stay away from her, it was clear that my dream self had not gotten the memo. Instead I had dreamt about the feel of her on my fingers, and her taste on my lips. In my dreams, Worthington had not knocked on the door, and I took things further. In my dreams, I had not panicked at the thought of intimacy with this woman, and I had her in every way imaginable. I woke up sweaty and sticky. Clearly, my dream self had consummated much more than I.

I did not lie when I told Niall that I'd had a long swim that morning. I had gotten up, fully intending to put my life back on track, and put her out of my mind. I made my way to the indoor pool on campus, and swam a punishing two-thousand meters. I wanted to exhaust my muscles, and my mind. I wanted to stop thinking about, and reacting to, her. After my shower, I realized that I'd forgotten to pack my boxers; I cursed and promised myself that from now on, I was going to be in control of my life once more.

I had only been in my office for a few minutes, and had just turned on some music, my iPod playing the soothing sounds of _Chant,_ when I heard the door open and then slam shut. I spun around in surprise, prepared to give whoever had dared a tongue lashing, but my words died before they reached my lips. She stood before me, a vision of righteous anger. Her eyes sparked, and her cheeks were flushed. She was stunning, and for a moment everything fell away, and I felt naked before her. Then she marched over, threw a stack of blue books on the couch and snarled, "Grade your own exams."

Her scent assailed me, and my nostrils flared in an attempt to take in more of her. I felt my control slipping. _No, no, no!_ I told myself repeatedly. I had sworn to stop this. I needed space. I needed to get away from her enticing smell, and the heat of her body. I stepped away from her, went to my desk, and put on my professor's persona. "Ms. Stackhouse," I began, but she was having none of it.

"How dare you?" She fumed at me, and took another step closer. I stepped back again, behind my desk, trying to maneuver it between us. _Dear God, please don't come closer._ I prayed. This is what I was trying to avoid, why I'd sworn not to meet with her in private anymore, but she followed me.

"You can't do that! You can't give someone a mind-blowing orgasm like that, and then just walk away! And then you tell me to grade your fucking exams! Are you serious?"

 _Did she say mind-blowing orgasm? Mind-blowing, huh?_ Oh, the little devil on my shoulder was enjoying this far too much. Then I got hit with the second part of her one-two punch, and she hammered home the fact that I not only left her, but told her to grade the exams.

I might have winced. I'd been a top-notch asshole saying that to her, but right then I couldn't think about it too much. Just about all my thoughts were focused on maintaining some semblance of control over my body, because my dick was screaming to be let out. She was just a foot away from me, and all I wanted to do was grab her, throw her on my desk, and cover her body with mine. I could see it in my head, and I clenched my fists, digging my nails into my palms to restrain myself.

"Well, say something!" she demanded, stepping closer to me, and then she poked me in the chest. "What, no pretty words now?"

When her finger touched my chest, I felt that same electric current as the day before. What was she doing to me? Better yet, how was she doing it? I did not get this way around women. I maintained the control. I was the adept at this game. I was always respectful, but I never promised them, or gave them, anything more than a good time. I had spent the last fifteen years very carefully building my walls. Most women tried to bring them down one brick at a time, and failed. Her very presence, however, was like a wrecking ball smashing out sections wholesale.

I was staring at her as this battle raged inside me. I could see the pulse in her neck throb, and her breasts rise and fall with her rapid, angry breaths. I was beyond worrying about my job, although it was important to me. This was something primal in me. I _needed_ her and that scared the shit out of me. That could not happen, ever. Never again. Then I saw her hand come at me once more, and I just couldn't stop myself. Maybe, I told myself, maybe if I just had done with it already, I'd get her out of my system.

I grabbed her wrist, wrapped my arm around her waist, and pulled her to me. I crushed my mouth to hers, and at first I thought I'd horribly miscalculated, because she didn't respond, but I was desperate to taste her, and to feel her under me. My mouth became insistent, as I poured all of my need into the kiss. Just as I was going to pull away, I felt her lips soften under mine, and she kissed me back. My stomach clenched with desire, and I deepened the kiss, feeling her lips part and allowing my tongue entrance. Her mouth was sweet and soft, and her tongue danced with mine deliciously. She was intoxicating, and I pulled back to catch my breath. My hands came up to cup her face, and I stared at her, hungry for more. My mind made one more attempt to bring me to reason, and I closed my eyes. _She's going to be the death of me._ "Just once," I whispered, answering my own conscience, and opened my eyes again. _Just once, and then it's done._ She was staring back at me, eyes wide open, her lips red and swollen from our kisses. She was breathing heavily, and fuck if I could remember the last time I wanted anyone as badly as I wanted her. With a growl, I attacked her mouth again and pushed her back against my desk.

My hands were all over her, desperate to feel her—her hips, her waist, her breasts—and my lips were running along her jaw and her neck, kissing, nibbling and nipping. Then she moaned into my mouth, and twined my hair in her hands and roughly pulled on it. I let loose a low growl, because fuck if that wasn't a turn on. I dropped my hands to her hips and pulled her closer, letting her feel exactly what she was doing to me, and she ground her hip right against my straining cock. I couldn't suppress the groan that came from me, or the way I ravaged her mouth again. She broke away and began kissing and nipping my neck and my collarbone, and then she palmed me through my pants, and I thought I might come right there. A whispered, "fuck," escaped my lips before I started kissing her again. My hands found their way under her shirt, and happily smoothed a trail over the soft skin of her stomach. When my thumbs found her nipples, I delighted in how quickly they pebbled under my touch. _My touch_ , I thought.

When I heard the knock on the door, there were several seconds in which I contemplated murder. Then he called out, and my heart dropped into my stomach in panic. Niall LeFay, my boss and mentor, was about to walk in on me in a very compromising position, and there was nothing I could do about it. I was about to lose my job, my guru, and the girl in one fell swoop. I think I uttered a curse, but then she did something completely unexpected, and dropped to her knees under the desk. As the door swung open, I quickly shifted myself, cleared my throat, and greeted him.

At first Niall and I merely exchanged the usual pleasantries, and as always, I asked about his granddaughter, Claudine. She lived with him, and was a fun-loving person. I think he had secretly hoped that she and I would hit it off, but even though she is a beautiful woman, we had never been more than friends, and had often laughed together at his obvious matchmaking ploys. Furthermore, I would never risk my friendship with him just to get into his granddaughter's pants, and that is all it would be between us.

Just as Niall finished telling me about Claudine's latest escapade, I felt Sookie's hands slide up the inside of my thighs. _Oh fuck me! The minx has a very naughty streak!_ And the little devil on my shoulder started his happy dance all over again. On the other hand, I was pretty sure there was no way I could do this, and there was no way that I would get away with it in front of Niall. I coughed and tried to back away, but she dug her little fingers into my legs, and all I could do was roll the chair forward more, and hope the desk hid everything.

I barely sounded like myself as I continued to speak to Niall. I was sure he was going to ask me if I was okay, because as soon as she unzipped my pants, and I felt the air hit my dick, my voice became very tense. When she reached in and pulled me out, I nearly jumped out of my seat, and had to shift positions. When she took me in her mouth, I did jump, and bashed my knee on the underside of my desk.

Niall immediately asked me what was wrong, and the first thing that popped into my mind was to say that I had a cramp from my swim. It was the lamest excuse I'd ever heard, but Niall seemed to buy it.

Her mouth on me was like hot, wet silk, as she took me as far as the awkward angle allowed, her hand making up the difference. Every so often she would stop sucking, and use her tongue along the bottom of my shaft, ending at the tip and lapping up the fluid collecting there, causing my dick to jump in her hand. I don't know if it was her mouth, her tongue, the fact that she was on her knees under my desk, with my boss in the room, or the fact that I getting blown to _Verbum Caro Factum Est_., but I've never experienced such pleasure from oral sex in my life, and I'd had plenty.

It was taking every ounce of concentration I had to follow Niall's next comments. "I've been contacted about sending someone to Cambridge for the spring, as a visiting fellow, to teach a course on 18th-Century Literature. I think you should do it, Eric."

I couldn't have been hearing him right. Of all the professors at the school, the ones with more experience and pedigree, he was choosing me? Between Sookie's insistent mouth, and the shock of what he was saying, I just stared at him blankly until he repeated himself.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked.

In truth, I was far from alright. I could feel my legs tensing with my impending orgasm, and I was trying to think of anything I could to hold it off. I finally resorted to the image of Niall's secretary, Maxine, who must have been as old as the school itself, in a bikini. I nodded responding, "Yes. I think I may have just over exerted myself this morning."

"Very well. Eric, I want you to seriously consider the offer. I know how you feel about being too far away, given your situation, but this is a once in a lifetime opportunity."

"I know, and I appreciate it. I will most definitely consider it. Thank you." I really did appreciate it. I doubted that I would be able to go, given my _situation_ , but it was an honor that he even considered me for the position.

He got up to leave, and I panicked. How was I supposed to see him out? I couldn't very well stand up with my rock hard dick pointing out of my open pants. Thankfully, Niall saved me from myself and said, "No, no. Don't get up. Take it easy. I know you don't want to become a saggy, old man like me, but really Eric, you shouldn't over do it. Why don't you come over for dinner tonight, and we can discuss it more?"

"That sounds lovely, thank you," I replied. Then I counted to twenty as I listened to his footsteps fade away.

As soon as I knew we were completely alone again, I pushed the chair back from the desk, pulling her with me and tangling my hands in her hair. I thrust my hips up, finally releasing the pent up sensations in my legs, and growled a muffled, "fuck," as I felt myself hit the back of her throat. There was no surprise there. I'd never been with anyone who could take my entire length, even Felicia, and she'd had years to practice with me. I felt her relax, and adjust, and take me deeper into her mouth as she sped up, working me with her mouth and hand.

I felt my legs tense up once more in anticipation, and I tightened my grip on her hair so I could pull her off, or warn her, but then she relaxed once more, and I slid all the way into her mouth, and down her throat. I lost all control at that point, muttering the ever-so-eloquent, "fuck, shit, ugh, fuck, oh fuck, fuck," as I shot my release down her throat. She never missed a beat, and swallowed every drop.

I felt her gently release me from her mouth, but it took a moment before I could open my eyes. When I did, I found her looking at me. She was so fucking beautiful in that moment, looking up at me from beneath her lashes, her lips red, full, and swollen, and her cheeks flushed with excitement. How had I ever thought one time with her would be enough? I could already feel myself stirring with desire again. I reached out to her, and brushed a stray hair from her face.

I wanted to pull her to me, have her on my lap and kiss her slowly, and deeply. Before I could though, she stood up, adjusted her clothes, and without a word began to walk away. What was she doing? I didn't want her to leave, but I couldn't get my mouth to work. She turned to look at me as she reached the door and said, "I'll see you in class," and then she walked out.

I sat there for a moment, completely stunned. She walked out on me! At first I was angry, and then I chuckled ruefully. Quid pro quo. I set the rules for this game, and she had just outplayed me. For fifteen years, I'd been the one who walked away. I had always been polite to women. I was never disrespectful, and I never left a woman unsatisfied, physically anyway. I enjoyed women too much to treat them like whores, but I was always the one who left before morning, and I'd never brought them home, or to my office—with the exception of Felicia, of course. Sookie Stackhouse had knocked me off my axis and set my world spinning, and I didn't like it. I needed to be in control, and she had completely upended me. I didn't know how I was going to react the next time I saw her. My lack of restraint around her was frustrating in the extreme, and a feeling of panic began to set in. _Fuck. Class_. I looked at the time, and realized I had less than an hour to prepare.

I slowly organized my notes, put on my robe, and by the time I reached the room, it was time for the lesson to begin. I walked in and immediately found her, sitting in the front row. Her hair was up in a ponytail, her lips were shiny with gloss, and she looked like the quintessential, wholesome, girl next door. Looking at her sitting there, pen in hand, notebook in front of her, you would never suspect that less than an hour before she'd been on her knees with my cock in her mouth.

I felt my dick coming back to life at the sight of her, and immediately averted my eyes. I spent the next hour studiously avoiding putting her in my line of sight, and relaxed into the rhythm of the lecture. As I spoke, I felt myself regain my composure and my control. Perhaps I could do it. Perhaps now that I'd had her, she was out of my system. It wasn't sex, well, according to our former president it wasn't, but I had allowed myself to enjoy her, and now I could walk away.

The hour ended, and I turned to gather my things. I smelled her as she walked by, and I forced myself to ignore it. When I finally did turn and head for the door, I was greeted by the sight of Bill Compton walking her out of the room. He was holding the door open for her, and his hand was on the small of her back, his thumb caressing her. A bubble of rage rose in me. He leaned in to tell her something. I couldn't hear what he said, but I saw her nod in agreement, and then he smiled, and it took everything I had not to knock the smile off his face. That's when I realized, I didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of just walking away.

I went back to my office, but I couldn't stay there. Everywhere I looked I could see her, smell her, feel her, and it was driving me crazy. I decided to have another quick swim before dinner at Niall's. I had to work off some of this anger.

Dinner at Niall's was delicious, as usual. Niall was a gourmand, and even a simple family dinner was a feast to be enjoyed with several bottles of perfectly paired wines. It was exactly what I needed to get my mind off Ms. Stackhouse, at least for a little while. Claudine distracted us with a story about one of her clients that had us roaring with laughter. She was an editor for a publishing concern, although she saw herself as little more than a glorified fairy godmother, who spent her time hand-holding and coddling, whenever a writer took offense to editorial commentary.

I stood to help her clear the table, but she insisted I sit with Niall. As she disappeared into the kitchen, he asked me if I'd thought about his offer. Truth was, my mind had been so wrapped up in the events of the morning, and then trying to ignore them, that I hadn't given it much thought at all.

"I don't know, Niall. You understand how difficult it could be for me to leave. It's an amazing opportunity, I know, but I just don't know if I can make it happen."

Niall sighed. "I know my boy, I know. Think about it though. I will do whatever I can to help you."

"Thank you, Niall. I appreciate it."

He waved away my thanks. "Eric, you're like a son to me. You and Claudine, you are all the family I have. Family takes care of each other. I know you know that. Better than anyone."

Hours later I lay in my bed, unable to fall asleep. I'd managed to keep her from my thoughts by keeping busy, but there, alone in the dark, all I had were my memories of that morning. The feel of her mouth on mine, and her body under my hands. The soft skin of her stomach, and the wet slickness of her mouth.

So when I awoke that morning, aroused and exhausted, I did the only thing I could think of. I called Felicia and asked her if she was still having her annual Halloween party, and if she had a date yet. Then I got in the shower and took care of business, and I couldn't help pretending that the warm water and my hand were _her_ mouth.


	13. Chapter 13

As the high from my adrenaline fueled endorphin rush wore off, I found myself walking away from his office on shaky legs, so I headed to the bathroom. I quickly walked into a stall, sat down on the unopened seat, and tried to slow the frantic beating of my heart. I took a few deep breaths, and slowly I felt myself begin to calm down.

I couldn't believe I had just done that! I've never been a thrill seeker, nor had I engaged in any public sex before, and it was something Bill would never break routine to do either, but something about the professor made me want to throw all caution to the wind. Hell, the very nature of our relationship, or whatever you wanted to call it, was illicit to begin with. It was wrong, and prohibited, and sordid in some ways, and that made me want him even more.

I touched my lips; they felt slightly numb and tingly, and I could smell the scent of him on my hand and mouth. It was musky, and masculine, and just . . . him; and I wanted more. I could still taste him in my mouth, and I wanted more of that too. I was so fucked. To make matters worse, I was going to have to see him in less than an hour, and pretend that nothing had happened. I would have to pretend that I didn't want to drop to my knees in front of him again, and that I didn't want to feel the soft, slick slide of him in my mouth, when all I wanted to was to do just that, right there in the classroom.

Just thinking about him made me throb with want. My panties were soaked, and I was so worked up, I had no idea how I could walk out of the bathroom, much less sit through an hour long lecture given by the object of my fantasies. My hand trailed down my stomach and to the top of my jeans. _Could I really do this?_ I listened carefully and realized no one else was in the bathroom. I undid the button of my jeans, and slid them and my underwear down. At least it would _look_ like I was using the restroom if someone walked in. I wasted no time in moving my fingers down, sliding through the slickness of my arousal, and slipping them in and out, before skimming up to my clit and rubbing circles; slowly at first, then faster and faster. I brought my other hand down, and slid two fingers in, working myself with both hands. It wasn't long before I felt myself on the verge, and with a few more frantic thrusts, I came, desperately trying to keep the keening wail that threatened to escape me from doing just that. Just as I finished, I heard the door open, and the unmistakable sounds of someone entering the stall next to me. I nearly laughed out loud.

I waited a bit longer, lifted the cover and actually peed, before coming out of the stall and washing my hands. I splashed some cold water on my face, then took a hair band out of my bag and pulled my hair up, using a touch of water to slick back the strays. I reapplied my lip gloss and took one last look at myself. I looked . . . normal. No one would ever guess what the last hour or so of my life had been like. Not a trace remained. I looked like any other coed on this campus. I snapped my bag shut, rolled my shoulders back, and headed to class.

It wasn't until he walked past me and began his lecture that I realized, no matter how much I may have _looked_ like any other coed on campus, I most certainly was _not_ like any other coed on campus. I highly doubted any other coed on campus had just blown her professor, rubbed one out in the bathroom, then sat to listen to a lecture by the aforementioned professor. As much as I thought I could handle it, I was quickly disabused of that notion. The entire hour passed by in a fog. My hand held my pen, and my notebook was open, but I didn't write a single thing down. I couldn't take my eyes off of him, and he couldn't avoid my gaze enough. I desperately wanted to make eye contact, just for a second, to see if that morning had affected him as much as it had me, but he wouldn't even look my way. Why wouldn't he look at me? Was he mad at me? Was he trying to blow me off? Or, was he trying not to be obvious? I had no idea what to think.

I've never lived through a slower hour in my life. When it ended, I tried to catch his eye one last time, but he studiously avoided me. I walked past him slowly, hoping he'd react, but . . . nothing. Then my day got even more complicated. Bill came up to me after class. I took a deep breath, because I really did not want to deal with him right then, but Gran raised me to have good manners, always. Plus, didn't I agree to at least give him a chance? Given the situation I was in, and the way the professor was studiously ignoring me, I realized that I owed not only Bill, but myself, a chance.

Bill helped me with my bag, slipping it onto my shoulder after I insisted on carrying it myself. Southern manners were great, but I wasn't one to depend on a man for everything, or to behave like I was a simpering Southern Belle. As I collected all of my belongings he asked, "Are you going home for Thanksgiving?"

I hadn't thought about it much until Bill asked me, but I realized that I had nothing to go home to, and nothing to do. Jason was probably going to be with whatever girl was his flavor of the month, and Amelia was going out of town with her father. They had invited me to go, but as much as I loved her, I didn't want to feel like I was the intruding on their father/daughter time. I shook my head, and as he guided me to the door, he told me he wasn't going home either, and asked if I would spend Thanksgiving with him. Why not? Bill was there. He was trying, and he was a reminder of home. Isn't that what the holidays were about? I nodded yes, and we walked out of the room.

Bill walked me to my next class, but when he leaned in to give me a kiss, I turned slightly so he got my cheek. I just couldn't bring myself to kiss him after what I'd done just a scant few hours earlier. I might have opened the door on some risqué behavior, but I wasn't a complete tramp. At least I didn't think so. God, I hoped not. The rest of my day passed in a sort of haze, and I realized that despite my earlier resolve not to include Amelia in this mess, I really needed someone to talk to. This situation was so far beyond my ability to deal with, that I really, really needed her advice. So, a few hours after my classes ended, I told her.

"WHAT?!"

Amelia's screech transcended anything that I thought humanly possible.

"How could you keep this from me?" Amelia asked.

"I'm not keeping it from you," I reasoned "I'm telling you now."

"Yeah, but you were planning on keeping it from me! If it wasn't for this morning, you wouldn't have told me about yesterday, would you?" She said, accusingly.

"Of course I would have," I lied. "It's just that you weren't here, and I didn't want to interrupt you and Tray." I thought I covered that rather neatly. "Honestly, Amelia, you just haven't been around."

I sliced a lime, and slid a wedge over the lip of the glass, before handing her a margarita. Margaritas were my specialty, particularly Cadillac margaritas, and Amelia could never resist one of mine. At first she just sniffed at me, as she eyed me over the rim of her glass, but a moment later I saw a smile. I knew she couldn't stay mad at me. She'd never been able to stay mad at me.

"So, spill. I want details. Is it as big as the rest of him?"

"Amelia!" I was no prude, and Amelia and I had shared quite a bit during our late-night, alcohol-fueled sex talks, but every once in a while, she still managed to shock the small-town girl in me. I turned several shades of pink and red, I'm sure, but wound up nodding and saying, "And then some."

Amelia squealed, and her eyes grew big. "Are you serious?"

I nodded again.

"Could you, you know?"

I giggled. "Yeah, once I moved out from under the desk."

"Shit girl! I wish I could learn how to do that. Tray would love it!"

I did not have a whole lot of experience with men before I met Bill, except for a few incidents I choose not to think about, and Amelia had tried _way_ more things than I had, but _that_ particular talent was something I just had a knack for. Amelia always joked that it was because I had no gag reflex. Personally, I chalked it up to good muscle control. Whatever the reason, Bill had always enjoyed it immensely and, apparently, so had the professor.

"What did he say?"

"You mean after 'fuck, shit, ugh, fuck, oh, fuck, fuck?'" I asked, laughing, and took another sip of my margarita. I think I made them stronger than usual, because I was definitely being a bit more forthcoming than I normally would have been. Then again, all my prior sex talks with Amelia had been about Bill, and since we'd been together so long, it had seemed, I don't know, wrong somehow to give Amelia all the details.

I realized that I wasn't feeling any such compunction about the professor. In fact, as long as it was just a game to him, I supposed that I could be as open with my best friend as I wanted to be.

Amelia broke into peals of laughter, "Yeah, after that."

"Actually, that's what's strange," I mused.

"How so?"

"He seemed, I don't know, lost? And he brushed my hair out of my face, and just gave me this look . . . I'm sure it was nothing, but I had this urge to crawl into his lap and hug him."

Amelia gave me an odd look, and said, "Girl, you've got it bad."

"What? No! It's just a game, right? I didn't actually crawl into his lap. I got up and walked out, and told him I'd see him in class."

"Oh no you didn't?" Amelia actually cackled. "Then what? How was class?"

I didn't tell Amelia about the bathroom, but I did have to admit to her that I was really distracted in class. I really needed her advice.

"I don't know what to make of it, Amelia. I don't know if I should try to see him again, or leave him alone. I don't know if he's blowing me off, or if he's as distracted as I am. I don't know . . ." And my voice trailed off as I refused to voice my thoughts. I didn't know if he was falling for me the way I was falling for him. _Fuck!_ Amelia was right. I had it bad.

"Sooks, what is it you want? I mean, shit, I never meant for you to fall for the guy. I just wanted you to walk on the wild side a little." She muttered, as she took a large gulp of her margarita. "Forget for a minute about what he's thinking, what do you want?"

That was a very good question, and one I didn't have the answer to. I knew I wanted the professor. I wanted to explore every single one of those incredible inches, and I could admit that I was feeling more than just a sexual attraction to him. However, I was also smart enough to know that it was probably just a schoolgirl crush. Of course I would feel this way. The man was gorgeous. He was built. Oh my God, was he built. And, he was incredibly intelligent and passionate about his work. Who wouldn't want him? And right there was my forehead smacking moment. Who wouldn't want him? He probably had women throwing themselves at him left and right: why would he be interested in me for anything other than a thrill, a blow job under his desk? I was the forbidden fruit. I was the "good girl" walking on the bad side; a Mary Ann to his many, faceless Gingers.

I took a deep breath. "I want him Amelia, but I doubt he thinks enough of me to risk his job and his reputation. I'll take what I can get, but I definitely have to keep my options open."

Amelia hesitated for a minute, then said, "I think that's a good idea," and she smiled. I couldn't help feel, however, that the smile was forced, and that she wanted to say something else. Still, I shrugged it off. I didn't want to talk about the professor anymore, and I got up to refill our glasses.

When I came back, Amelia started in about Thanksgiving again, telling me her father really wanted me to join them, and that he was more than happy to pay for it. I know I've explained to Amelia a million times that I'm not comfortable with other people spending money on me, but she insists on pushing the issue. Plus, and I definitely didn't tell her this, but the last time her father was here for dinner, I most definitely got a weird vibe from him, and I felt like every time I turned around, he was in my personal space. It made me really, really uncomfortable, but I decided to blame it on the wine and let it go.

At least this time, I had a more concrete reason to turn down Amelia and Cope's offer. "I'm spending Thanksgiving with Bill," I held up my hand to forestall her opposition, "and before you go off on me, remember that I promised to give him a chance. Plus, I'm keeping my options open, remember?"

Amelia muttered something that included a few profanities, but I pretended not to hear her. Then she suddenly perked up. "I almost forgot! Yours truly wrangled us an invitation to _the_ hottest Halloween party of the year! You have no idea how long I've been bugging my dad to get me into this thing, but he finally came through, and we're going."

I laughed at Amelia's excitement and, frankly, I was pretty excited too. I'd always loved Halloween, since I was a child, and I hadn't had much chance to dress up and have fun in the last couple of years. Bill preferred to stay home on Halloween, so we would dole out candy to the neighborhood kids and watch horror films all night.

Ever fixated on clothing, Amelia started prattling on about what she was going to wear, as it was a costume mandatory party. No one would be allowed to enter without one. "But the best part, Sooks, is what I'm making for you."

"For me? No, no way in hell, Amelia! I'll just go to the Halloween store and pick something up."

Amelia laughed. "Sookie, this party is high end. There will be no pre-packaged costumes. Pus, I'm going to use it for my final in my design class, Sook, and I have the perfect thing for you! Please," she whined.

How could I say no to that? I closed my eyes and nodded, bracing myself for her squeal. Then I let out a small sigh. I knew what this meant of course. Fittings, wherein I'd be stuck with pins and forced to stand in one spot for an hour, all to ensure an end result that was most likely beautiful, and yet something I would never, ever choose for myself, and without a doubt would be much, much more revealing than I was comfortable with. I opened my eyes to see Amelia's broad smile and sparkling eyes.

Oh yeah, I was going to be in so much trouble.


	14. Chapter 14

I stood in front of my mirror, cursing Felicia for the hundredth time that night. I tried to remind myself why I agreed to go to this Halloween party, which was a mistake, because as soon as I thought of the reason I'd gone running to Felicia in the first place, I felt my pants tighten.

Two weeks. Two weeks since I'd touched her. Two weeks since I'd felt the heat of her under me. Two weeks since she brought me the most pleasure I'd experienced in years. Two excruciating weeks of trying to ignore the way she smelled as she walked past me to her seat, or the way my body instinctively pulled towards hers whenever she was close, or the way she licked her lips before she spoke, or worried her bottom lip with her teeth when she was nervous. Two excruciating weeks of pretending not to want to pick her up, throw her over my shoulder, and take her away from all the Bill Comptons of the world.

Since that morning, I'd made a point of making sure I was never able to be alone with her. I canceled my office hours, telling my students that my office was being painted, and offering to communicate via email. I hate email. If she seemed to be lingering after class, I hurried out, or if I saw her leaving, I would tarry with my papers. Anything to avoid the proximity I knew would be my undoing.

But the worst part? The worst part was during the hour of class that I could not avoid her, when she would raise her hand and ask questions, and when she would challenge me with her intellect and keen insights. If my attraction to her was only physical, I had no doubt it would have passed, but she was also smart, and that was a hell of a turn on. Add to that the fact that she was so innocently unaware of her appeal, and it was a heady combination that I was unable to ignore.

I saw how several of the male students in the class stared at her, and watched her retreating form as she left the room, her gorgeous ass swaying slightly. Unfortunately, I also saw the possessive way in which Compton kept them all at arm's length, hovering around her and marking his territory, like a dog peeing on a tree.

So now I stood before the mirror, in a pretentious, Venetian Mardi Gras costume, complete with a hooded cloak and a mask that would cover all of my face, except for my eyes, lips, and chin. I had wanted to dress as a Viking, but Felicia shot it down as too obvious.

"Jesus, Eric," she chided, "what are you going to do? Come wearing furs, and hope to bash some woman over the head with Thor's hammer? Where is your sense of mystery?"

I'd growled at her, but allowed her to have her way. There were certain things you just didn't fight Felicia about, and throwing the perfect party was one of them. The woman had an uncanny ability to get everything "just so." Her annual Halloween party had become the "must attend" event among the trendy and "in-the-know," with everyone scrambling to land themselves an invitation. I had not been to one in several years. It really wasn't my scene anymore, but I hoped that I could distract myself from the torment that was Sookie Stackhouse by engaging in a night of debauched revelry—hopefully, a very debauched night.

I looked at my reflection once more. My legs were encased in black, eighteenth-century style pants, which ended in soft, black boots that came to my knees. The pants were snug, perhaps a bit too snug, and left little to the imagination. My shirt was blood red silk, with puffy sleeves—almost like a pirate shirt. When I told Felicia that it looked like something stolen from a new wave band's '80s tour, she told me, and I quote, "to shut the fuck up," and trust her. I had to admit, with the shirt tucked into the pants, my assets were nicely displayed. I turned the mask over in my hands. It was a red and black demon mask, complete with horns, and when I threw on the cloak and hood as well, I realized that no one but Felicia would know who I was. I wanted to kiss her at that moment.

The party was being held at one of the trendier restaurants in the city, which also had the capacity to handle a large crowd, and when I arrived, I was impressed by the way everything looked—although given that it was Felicia's doing, I wasn't surprised. The entire place was decorated like a Renaissance palace. Clearly my Venetian-inspired costume was meant to fit right in. The décor was a palette of golds and bright jewel tones. It looked opulent and decadent. There was a table with a pyramid of champagne glasses, with the bubbly liquid cascading down from the top glass. There was also a fully stocked bar, with a bartender mixing up an array of blood colored drinks, or whatever else suited your fancy. This was no ordinary Halloween party. This was a masque, in the grand tradition. Each of the servers was dressed as a jester, and each and every guest was wearing a mask of some type.

I spotted Felicia in a circle of people. She looked stunning. She was dressed like a traditional Prima Donna from the Commedia dell'Arte: an Isabella, or Fiorella. Her gown was corseted, and set off her breasts magnificently. Of course, being Felicia, she was not content to wear the traditional, full length gown, but had hers altered into something scandalously short, with a long train in the back, so that her legs were shown off to perfection. She sported a small mask that covered only her eyes and nose. She was the hostess after all. It would not do for her to remain incognito.

As I approached, I saw her take in the entirety of my costume, and her eyes sparkled behind her mask. She excused herself from her guests, and walked over to me, linking her arm in mine. "So, what do you think?" she asked. I raked my eyes over her, and smiled. "I think," I whispered into her ear, "that you are ravishing, and if you're not careful, that is just what you're going to get."

She playfully hit my arm with the little fan in her hand, before saying, "And you, Eric Northman, look devastatingly sexy. Be prepared to be fawned over tonight." Then she let her eyes trail down my pants, "And groped," she added, as she sashayed away. I stifled a laugh, wandered over to the bar, and ordered a Manhattan.

And she was right. For the next hour, I wandered around the outskirts of the party, watching as people began to loosen up from the alcohol and the anonymity their masks afforded them. Several women, and one man, accosted me as I made my circuit, and a couple of them did grope me. I had yet to set my sights on anyone pleasing enough, or single enough, to spend the evening with, but I found a table to sit at where I had a good view of the dance floor. Just then, the music changed into something with a deeper "bump n' grind" groove, and several couples wandered away from the dance floor.

That's when I saw her, and every bit of restraint I'd shown for the prior two weeks was shattered. In the classroom, surrounded by students, it was easier to pretend I felt nothing. But there, with whiskey running through my veins, surrounded by revelers who were positively exuding sexual energy, I not only couldn't pretend; I didn't want to.

She was dressed as a fairy, but this was not Peter Pan's Tinkerbell. Her dress was blue and silver, and had only one shoulder, exposing the length of her neck as it gracefully met her shoulder on the other side. The bodice had a little boning in it, corset like, while the sides had geometric cut outs, exposing her soft skin. The material was scandalously sheer, although it didn't actually give anything away. The skirt was well above her knees and fell in soft tatters, which swooshed around as she danced, exposing even more of her beautiful legs. And her legs, dear God, her legs . . . she wore silver blue sandals on a rather high heel, that had straps winding all the way up her leg, like a Penthouse version of a gladiator's shoe. Small, delicate wings were strapped to her back, and her hair was partially pulled back, with tendrils of ivy trailing down, intermingling with her curls. Stray curls had "haphazardly" escaped and were framing her face, which was slightly obscured by a small, blue and silver filigreed mask, but I would know that mouth anywhere.

And then she started to dance, and gravity shifted. She was dancing with another girl, who was dressed as a very sexy geisha, and whose "mask" was cleverly painted on. Sookie was moving seductively, her hips swaying and dipping, and then the two of them closed the gap between their bodies and started dancing together, and I thought my heart was going to stop. There is nothing hotter than two beautiful women dancing together like that. Nothing. The geisha moved behind Sookie, and while they were grinding together, her hands were moving suggestively over Sookie's body. My dick jumped to attention immediately, and I let out a small groan. Then I realized that I wasn't the only man there who was riveted by the sight. I saw one man start to make his way over to them, and I felt a possessive growl begin low in my chest. Before I even knew what I was doing, I strode onto the dance floor. The girls were face-to-face, or rather pelvis-to-pelvis, once more, and I came up behind Sookie, placing my hands on her hips and whispered, "Hai condannato alla secondo cerchio di inferno. Ballare con me."

I hoped speaking in another language would help keep my identity from her, plus when referencing Dante, Italian is a must. I felt a shudder run through her body as she covered my hands with hers, and I pulled her to me as we swayed together to the music. She continued to move sensually against me, as her hands moved from mine and began to slide up and down my thighs, caressing them rhythmically to the music. The current I felt whenever we touched was running along my entire body, and I wondered if she felt it as well. My dick was achingly hard, and I couldn't help but press myself against her backside, and note a small gasp escape her lips, before I felt her push herself back into me, encouraging me. I let out a small hiss and gripped her hips tighter. Then, the song ended, and the strains of a slower one began. I felt her begin to move away from me, as if she thought I was done now that the song was over. I grabbed her by the hand, and spun her around. Her eyes widened in surprise, but then she let out a soft laugh and said, "Con piacere, Signor." It was my turn to be surprised, but I moved my other hand to her lower back, pressing her to me, and started to lead her in a slow and sensual rumba, as the seductive lyrics of "Besame Mucho" began to play.

I'm a strong dance partner, thanks to being forced to go to cotillion as a boy, and I expected to lead Sookie in a basic rumba, as very few young women these days know anything about ballroom dancing. Sookie, however, clearly knew the rumba well—too well. She teased and pulled away, swaying her hips suggestively as I pulled her close and let her go. I spun her to me, her back against my chest, and she slowly slid down my body, twisting and gyrating her hips as she went, before following the same route back up. My blood was pounding through my veins, and for a moment I lost the music as I only heard the thundering in my ears. As she turned back to me once more, I caught her tightly about the waist, and pulled her to me. She wrapped a leg around mine, and I smiled at the theatrics, but played along and "dragged" her with me, before twirling her and resuming our flirtatious stepping. As the song ended, I dipped her, and she arched her back beautifully, pushing her breasts up towards me. I slowly ran my fingers down her throat and between her breasts, before bringing her back up. Her face was flushed, and her eyes sparkled. "Bellisima," I whispered.

"Grazie," she said, but before I could reply, we were surrounded by a loud group of partygoers, all clapping and hollering, and Sookie was whisked off by the geisha, in a frenzy of squeals. Apparently, our dance had garnered some attention. While not embarrassed, I was a bit uncomfortable with the attention, and entirely frustrated at having her out of my arms. I was about to go looking for her when I felt a tug on my hand, and I looked down to see Felicia, staring at me like the cat that ate the canary. She gently pulled me off the dance floor and to the bar, where she knowingly ordered me another Manhattan, and some blood red, Halloween inspired drink for herself.

My eyes scanned the room, as I drank, looking for a creature in blue and silver, until I heard Felicia speaking next to me.

"That's her, isn't it?" she asked.

I felt my eyes tighten. I nodded, unable to speak, not trusting my voice.

"She's beautiful," she said.

I closed my eyes and sighed, "I know," I whispered.

"Don't think, Eric. At least for tonight, don't think. Go find her," she encouraged.

I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, and opened my eyes. I looked at Felicia and smiled.

I cupped her face in my hand, and gazed into the eyes of my best friend, confidante, conscience, and sometimes lover. "You're the best, you know that?"

"Yes, I do," she laughed. "Now, go find your girl," she said, as she took my empty glass and pushed me back out into the party.

 _Your girl_. The words rolled around my head, and I felt my stomach clench with anxiety. _I can't do this_. _I can't do this._ I found myself unable to breathe. "I can't do this," I whispered, as my heart sped up and I began breathing too quickly. I made for the French doors that lead out unto the terrace, desperate for the feel of the cool nighttime air.

I walked out unto the mostly deserted terrace, only partially registering the couple obscured by the shadows. I pushed back the hood of the cloak and removed the mask, taking in large gulps of air, and trying to slow my pounding heart. The brisk air helped, and I leaned my arms against the railing. After a moment I felt like I was back in control, and I put the mask and hood back on. I turned to go back inside, determined to find Felicia and say goodnight. I just didn't have the heart to continue with the charade anymore.

As I did, movement caught my eye, and I fully realized that I was not alone. I saw a couple that appeared to be occupied with each other, but I couldn't make out anything else from their place in the shadows. I was about to slink off, to give them some privacy, when I heard a woman's voice.

Not just any woman's voice. Her voice. "I said no! Stop it! Let go of me!"

I couldn't hear his response, but I saw him grab both of her arms and pull him towards her. My vision went red. I was going to kill him for touching her like that. I moved to go to her, but before I could even get there, I heard a guttural cry come from the man, and then watched as he crumpled to the ground, his hands cradling his crotch. I couldn't help the smile that began to quirk at the corners of my mouth. _Well, she certainly handled that!_

Just then, another man came out on the terrace, saw the first one and cursed. He looked at Sookie and said, "Shit! I'm so sorry! My brother had a little too much to drink tonight. I was trying to get him out of here, but I lost him in that crowd. I've been looking all over for him. Are you alright?" he asked, as he started to drag his brother away.

"Yeah, I'm fine, but maybe he should work on his manners around a lady," she spat at him, and I noticed that in her anger, her southern accent was more pronounced. The man just kept apologizing as he slung his brother's arm over his shoulder and half walked, half dragged him away.

I stood just off to the side, unsure if she even realized I was there. I was frozen in place, unable to decide if I should listen to my body and go to her, or listen to my brain and continue with my plan to run away. The decision was taken from me when a waiter walked up with a tray of champagne and offered me a glass. At the sound of his voice, she looked over and I was discovered. I saw a small smile grace her face, and I just reacted. Grabbing two glasses from the waiter, I walked over to her.

"Champagne?" I offered.

"Thank you," she said, before she giggled and amended, "I mean grazie."

I realized that she believed I spoke no English. She had no clue who I was. Obviously embarrassed, she turned and leaned her arms against the railing, facing away from me and toward the lovely view of the park behind the restaurant. The moon hung full and lush in the sky, casting an ethereal glow on her skin. It was luminescent, and I longed to touch it, to touch her.

"É una bella notte," she said. I didn't take the time to ponder how this young woman from somewhere in the South knew how to speak Italian. Instead, I came up behind her, bracing my arms on either side of hers at the railing. I didn't touch her, although we were close enough for me to feel the heat coming off her body. Instead, I leaned down until my lips were nearly touching her ear and whispered, "Si, é bella."

I saw her shudder slightly, and heard a breathy moan escape her. It was all the encouragement I needed, and my earlier hesitation fled. I was caught up in the inexplicable pull she had on me, my fears be damned. Leaving my glass on the balustrade in front of us, I ran my hands up her arms, and this time there was nothing quiet and breathy about her moan. It was low and sultry, and full of desire. My body stirred at the sound of it, and once again that electrical current ran through me as I touched her, leaving my body humming with anticipation. I moved one hand to push my mask up and out of the way. I felt her try to turn around, but quickly brought both hands to her shoulders kept her from turning and seeing who I was. I leaned forward and ran my tongue along her exposed neck, and again I felt the urge to bite her, only this time I didn't hold back. This time, I nipped, and sucked, and marked her neck thoroughly. I smiled against her skin as I thought of the look on Compton's face when he saw my mark. I continued to torment her ear, neck, and shoulder with my tongue and my teeth, breathing in her scent as I did, and then I slid a hand around to cup one of her breasts. I ran my fingertips over it, and felt her nipple harden through the flimsy material as I played with it.

She was whimpering and moaning at my touch, and I trailed my hand further down, reaching up under her skirt and finding the flimsy fabric that separated her from me. I could feel the moisture and heat as I teased her, running my fingers over the fabric until it was soaked. Her hips were moving, trying to find the friction I was denying her, and when I pulled my hand away, she growled in frustration. It was the sexiest fucking sound. When I heard it, I ground my erection into her backside, letting her know how she was affecting me. I pulled the mask back down and spun her around, pushing her against the stone ledge that separated us from the drop below. Despite the awkwardness caused by the mask, I kissed her, parting her lips with my tongue and tasting her sweetness. It was my turn to groan, and I did as her tongue battled with mine, and her hand slid between us to palm me through my pants. I pulled away, and saw a momentary look of confusion on her face, which was quickly replaced by surprise as I grabbed my glass of champagne and poured a little stream down her chest, which I quickly lapped up with my tongue. I pulled the strapless side of her dress down, exposing the one breast, and drizzled champagne on her nipple before sucking it into my mouth. I did it once more, enjoying the taste of her mixed with the wine, and biting her nipple lightly. The sounds she made kept shooting straight to my incredibly hard cock, and it was all I could do not to just bend her over the railing and take her.

"Dear God," she exclaimed, as I bit and I couldn't help the smile that formed. I dipped my fingers into the glass and brought them to her lips. Her eyes closed as she sucked them into her mouth, all the way to the knuckles. I almost came on the spot, as she reminded me just what her mouth and tongue could do. I poured some of the effervescence into her mouth, and then kissed her once more, enjoying the wantonness of it, and running my tongue down her jaw to catch the stray dribbles. Then, I slid my hands under her skirt, hooked my thumbs into the sides of her thong, and slowly began to slide it down her legs.

I saw her briefly look around, suddenly remembering where we were, and indeed, only then did I begin to hear the music once more and register the sound of the party going on inside. I gave her a cocky smile and bent down as I continued to remove her panties. When I reached her ankles, she lifted one foot and then the other, allowing me to remove them completely. I looked her in the eyes as I placed them in my pocket, and I saw my desire reflected there. My breath hitched for a moment, before I stood once more and slid a hand up her leg, cupping her wet sex, and lightly grinding the palm of my hand into her. A whispered, "fuck," escaped her lips and she bucked her hips, seeking more. I was happy to oblige, and slid two fingers into her. She was so wet it was making me dizzy with excitement. I continued to toy with her for a minute, but decided that I had to taste her. This time, I was not going to walk away before I felt her come on my tongue. I removed my fingers from her, and before she could register a complaint, my mouth was back on hers, and I was cupping her beautiful ass with my hands and carrying her to a nearby bench. Her legs instinctively wrapped around my waist, and she ground herself against my cock. I growled in response, and nipped at her lip, before setting her down.

We were further back in the shadows now, at the far corner of the terrace. I slid to my knees before her, and gently placed one of her feet on the bench, with her knee bent. She placed her hands behind her, and leaned back on them. I pulled her to the very edge of the seat and lifted her skirt, so that it was bunched around her waist, and pushed her knee out to the side, exposing her to me completely. A sprinkling of blond curls dusted the top of her mound, but her lips were bare and glistening with moisture. I looked up at her once more; her face was flushed, her eyes were glassy with arousal, and her breathing was nearly a pant. She was so unbelievably beautiful. I wanted to tell her, but I couldn't find my voice. Then, for a moment, I wondered how she could do this. How she could let a stranger in a mask do this to her, but the thought was fleeting as the scent of her arousal hit me, making everything else irrelevant.

Keeping my eyes on hers, I extended my tongue and ran it up her slit, gathering her juices and tasting her sweetness. She tasted every bit as delicious as I recalled. Better even. I groaned with pleasure, and continued to lick and suck on her lips, intentionally ignoring the bundle of nerves at the top that she was so desperate for me to attend to. Finally, I flattened my tongue and ran it over her clit, and she yelped out in pleasure, throwing her head back and thrusting her hips further into my face. I circled it once more with the tip of my tongue, before I pulled it between my lips and began to suck. My fingers worked their way into her once more, and soon she was writhing and moaning with her impending release. I quickly replaced my fingers with my tongue, fucking her with it, as my thumb rubbed circles on her nub. I was rewarded with the sensation of her pulsing warmth around my tongue, followed by a gush of moisture as her orgasm ripped through her. This time she didn't hold back, and her cry of pleasure was exquisite. I remained where I was, lazily lapping up every last drop she had to offer, as she continued to shudder and twitch through the remains of her high.

When I finally broke away, she pulled me up for a kiss. I knew she could taste herself on my lips and in my mouth, and the thought turned me on even more. I was leaning over her, my hands on either side of her hips, and as we kissed, one of her hands came behind my neck. For a brief moment I wished the cape and hood were gone so she could tangle her hand in my hair, and then her other hand slid down between us. Her fingers nimbly opened my pants. She pushed up my shirt, and pulled out my achingly hard cock. I groaned as the cool night air hit it. She wrapped her little hand around my length, and with a sure touch, began to stroke me. She kept her eyes trained on mine as her hand worked up and down. It didn't take long before I began to thrust into her hand, and I heard her whisper, "come for me." Those three words sent me over the edge, and with a wordless cry I came into her hand.

As I tried to catch my breath, she continued to look at me as she brought her hand to her mouth and licked her fingers clean. I groaned at the sight of it, and felt my dick twitch despite its recent release. Then she kissed me lightly on the lips as she ducked under my arm. "Thank you professor," she whispered, and she walked away, leaving me stunned with my mouth and pants open.


	15. Chapter 15

I sat hunched over the toilet bowl, with my cheek pressed against the cool porcelain. My hair was plastered to my forehead, and when I lifted my head the world spun in a dizzying fashion. I groaned and heaved once more, although there wasn't much left to throw up. After two days of the flu, the only I thing managed to get into my system was some water, and that didn't stay down anyway. I curled up on the floor once more as the pains shot through my stomach. I had more or less slept on my bathroom floor since the Sunday after the Halloween party.

I heard the door open, and Amelia stepped in. "Oh, honey, still?" she asked. _All hail the princess of the obvious_. I knew it wasn't a very charitable thought, but I wasn't feeling particularly charitable that morning. I just nodded and tried to smile, although I'm pretty sure it was more of a grimace. Amelia placed a hand against my forehead and hissed. "You're burning up, Sookie." I pushed her hand away and groaned.

"You need to take some Tylenol."

"I can't keep it down, Amelia."

"Crap. I think you need to see a doctor."

"Amelia, it's just the flu. What is the doctor going to do?"

She stood there with her hands on her hips, lips pursed, as she tried to decide what tact to take with me. "Fine. But we're putting you back in bed, and you can barf in the garbage can if you need to. We've gotta get you off this cold floor."

"Fine."

Once she got me tucked into my bed, with a glass of tea on my nightstand, which I promised I would _try_ to drink, she asked if there was anything else she could do before she left.

"Umm, yeah. Do you think you could let my professors know I'm down with the flu, and not just avoiding my classes?" Truth was, I didn't want Professor Northman to think I was avoiding him after the Halloween party, but I hadn't told Amelia about what happened on the terrace, so I needed an excuse for letting him know. She gave me a look like she wasn't really buying it, but just then I felt another heave coming and I grabbed the garbage can—Amelia didn't stick around.

After she left, I thought about the professor and Halloween. As I predicted, Amelia made me crazy with fittings for the costume, and initially it was even more risqué than it wound up being. I had put my foot down on the first version; it was completely sheer, and it left nothing, nothing, to the imagination. Eventually, however, I had to grudgingly admit that the final version of the costume was beautiful, and by the time Amelia had finished with all the little touches—hair, makeup, a mask, and wings—I looked like a fairy queen. When we arrived at the party, I felt like Cinderella at the ball. I was sure that any minute, someone was going to realize I didn't belong there and I would have to run away before my carriage turned into a pumpkin.

And then I saw him. He was wearing black pants that clung to him like a second skin, and I could see his muscles flex beneath the fabric as he walked. His very gracious plenty was also on prominent display, and his red shirt, with its top buttons opened, allowed a peek at his perfectly sculpted chest. Even though his hair was covered by a hood, and half of his face was obscured by a mask, I was sure it was him. I mean, how many six foot, four inch men with that body, and those lips, are there? Well, I was _pretty_ sure it was him, and I wanted nothing more than to jump him, but I didn't have the courage of my convictions, so I resigned myself to trying to ignore him. Then I saw him on the arm of a stunning woman, who I later discovered was the hostess. She was absolutely breathtaking. Her skin was warm caramel, and her body was model perfect. I saw the way he leaned in to talk to her, and I heard her tinkling laughter. I felt a bit like a voyeur, because their intimacy was apparent. I also felt inadequate and, frankly, jealous. I could never be that type of perfect woman, and clearly that was what he was after. I grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and chugged it down. I decided I would try to ignore the professor and enjoy myself. It was a party. There were a lot of other fish in the proverbial sea, right? After a few glasses of champagne, I managed to drag Amelia to the dance floor. She had been flirting with a man dressed like a wolf, but I needed a distraction. Plus, I love to dance, and if there is one thing I'm good at, it's dancing. Soon, Amelia and I were grooving and grinding, and I was having a blast and, for a brief moment, I was able to forget that the professor could actually be at this little party. In fact, I convinced myself that I must have been wrong.

Amelia and I were having a great time, and I know that the champagne loosened us up; we were dancing way more provocatively than we probably would have otherwise. I didn't care, though. I was in costume, with a mask, and I would never see these people again, so what did it matter? I could probably kiss her right then and people would love it, and I even contemplated doing so, just for the reaction. A great beat came along and before I knew it, Amelia and I were grinding up against each other, enjoying the feedback we were getting from the men around us. And then, suddenly, I felt hands on my hips and an electric jolt went through me, just as I heard his voice say in Italian, "You have condemned me to the second ring of hell. Dance with me." My panties were drenched in an instant. First Herrick, now Dante. In. Fucking. Italian. The man was going to be the death of me. The second ring of hell, reserved for the lustful. I was going there willingly.

When I was a little girl, I used to watch old movies with Gran and she was so in love with Marcello Mastroianni, that not only did we watch his movies all the time, but Gran bought an audio cassette system for learning Italian. She and I would sit in the kitchen, while I did homework and she made dinner, and we'd listen. I think the fact that it was both of us learning together that helped. Plus, we were able to practice with each other. When I was in high school, I took a summer class in Italian at the junior college in Shreveport. I loved the language and made sure to keep up with it whenever I could, including taking it during my first two years at the university, and I pretty much achieved fluency. I would love to go to Italy one day.

So when he grabbed me and started speaking Italian, my girlie bits began to dance all on their own. I put my hands over his, making sure they had a firm grip on my hips, and began to sway with him. My back was still to him, but I made sure I moved in ways that would keep his imagination hopping. Then, he pressed his hardness against me, and I couldn't suppress my gasp, before I thrust my ass back into him, pressing against it. Two could play that game. When the song ended, and "Besame Mucho" began to play, I started to move away. Most men don't like to dance slow dances, but he grabbed my hand and spun me around. I couldn't help my laughter and decided to play along with him, and in Italian I told him, "With pleasure, Sir." I'm pretty sure he was surprised by my speaking Italian.

Not only did the professor like to dance the slow dances, but he knew how. I expected the usual hands on my waist, my hands on his neck, slowly moving in a box step, but he began to move me in the appropriate steps for a rumba, and I realized that he was quite proficient. You don't grow up watching movies like _Dirty Dancing_ and not learn the rumba. Gran and I rented that movie one night, and the next day I went to the Arthur Murray studio and signed up. I had to do some extra baby-sitting to pay for it, but it was worth every penny. By the end of the summer, they'd offered me a job as an assistant. Hell, I would have done it for free, I loved dancing so much. It didn't pay a lot, but it gave me some extra spending money. After a couple of years, the school closed, but I still danced. I used to watch the ballroom dancing shows and competitions; hell, I still watch "Dancing with the Stars," and I practice all the time. So, I put my knowledge and my love of dance to work that night, and I don't think I disappointed. It was so exciting to have a strong partner, who not only knew the steps, but clearly enjoyed dancing, and dear God, that man is sex on two legs. I spun, twisted, gyrated, and slid down his body, and he kept up with it all. His touch was sending sparks through me, and when he dipped me at the end, running his hands down my chest and telling me I was beautiful, I wanted nothing more than to grab him and pull him in for a kiss. Of course, just then the room exploded in clapping and whistles and hooting, and before I knew it, Amelia had grabbed me and was going on and on about our dance. Within seconds, he was swallowed up by the crowd around us, and I lost him.

I found myself outside on the terrace, trying to catch my breath and cool off. I figured if he hadn't come to me after that dance, he wanted to pretend like there was nothing there. He was still playing his game, and there was nothing I could do about it. He was in control. A minute or two later, I was approached by someone dressed as a tiger, of all things. We chatted for a minute, and he seemed friendly enough, but the next thing I knew he was all over me, pawing at me like the wild animal he was pretending to be. I told him to stop, but he wouldn't listen, so I did what every girl who has ever worked in a bar learns to do: I kneed him in the nuts and brought him down. After his brother dragged him off, I decided to just find a cab and head home, but then I heard a waiter offer someone champagne. I turned to look, and there he was, standing and staring at me. I saw a smirk form on his lips, as he grabbed two glasses and made his way over to me.

He offered me the champagne, and I thanked him. Then I decided to continue playing his game and repeated myself in Italian. It was hard not to laugh, though. I mean, it was obvious that he believed I didn't know who he was, so I figured I'd play along, but I had to turn from him and face the scenery before I laughed and gave myself away, because I certainly didn't want the game to end just yet.

I told him that it was a beautiful night, and he came up behind me, hands on either side of me, and without touching me whispered, "Yes, she is." I could feel the electricity between us. It hovered in those few centimeters between our bodies, like an electromagnetic field. His breath on my ear caused a shudder to rip through me, and I couldn't help the slight moan that escaped my throat. He brought out something so primal, so needy in me, that my libido jumped into overdrive, and every nerve ending came alive. Then he touched me, his hands skimming over my arms, and I ignited, and this time the moan he elicited was feral, desperate, and full of every bit of desire I was harboring. He held me still, pinned against the balustrade, and his mouth, teeth, and glorious tongue worked my ear and my neck, and he marked me as sure as a rancher ever branded a bull, but I didn't care. When his hand cupped my breast and his fingers ran over my nipple, I began to whimper with need. Then he began to tease me, tormenting my sex with his skillful fingers, only to suddenly pull away. I growled my displeasure. When he spun me around and his mouth was on mine, it was heaven. His soft, full lips demanded everything from me. His insistent tongue worked his way into my mouth and dueled with mine, and I reached down to touch him through his pants.

When he pulled away again, I was on the verge of breaking out of character and just ripping off both our masks and forcing him to continue, but then he poured champagne down my chest and over my breast, and his tongue and mouth were lapping it up, while ratcheting up my desire to a whole other level. He placed his champagne-coated fingers in my mouth, and I sucked them with all the abandon and desire I would his cock. Then he poured it into my mouth and kissed me, sharing the bubbly, golden liquid, and licking what we missed. But his eyes when he looked at me and removed my panties, before putting them in his pocket . . . the cocky, mischievous glint in his eyes, as we both realized we were in public . . . well, I nearly came on the spot. And that was before his fingers slid in to me. Oh. My. Fuck. And then a minute later, I was in his arms, and he was carrying me to a darkened corner. When he set me on that bench and arranged me, spread open for him like a feast, I felt myself pulse with desire, and my wetness seeped out more. I was desperate for him at that point, and I'm sure he knew it. His skillful mouth and tongue made quick work of me as he kept his eyes on mine; as I rode the waves of my orgasm out, he continued to lick and suck as though he had been starving.

I pulled him up for kiss, and I could taste myself on him, and it was mixed with that flavor that was just . . . him, and it was so incredibly erotic, the two of us combined like that. I reached down, unbuttoned his pants, pulled up his shirt, and released his magnificent cock. I took it in my hand and began to stroke, wanting him to find the same incredible release that I had. I kept my eyes on his, just as he had, and when I felt him begin to thrust into my hand, I asked him to come for me. He did, and I just had to taste him once more, so I slowly brought my hand to my mouth and licked it clean. It was then that I realized the charade had to come to an end. I leaned forward, kissed him lightly and said, "Thank you, professor," before walking away. I'm pretty sure I left him with his mouth hanging open.

Then there I was, several days later, stuck in bed with the stomach flu, and unable to see him or gauge his reaction to me. I couldn't help but wonder if the same cold shoulder I'd been receiving since I'd last been with him would continue now that we'd been intimate again. I couldn't deny that it had hurt. I wasn't stupid. I knew he canceled his office hours because of me, and I knew he wasn't looking at me, and hardly calling on me during class. I just couldn't figure out why. Did he think I was going to act the lovesick puppy? Did he think I would give something away? Did he feel so awful about what happened that he hated me? Or, was he just trying to blow me off? Well, the Halloween party dispelled some of those questions, but not all, and left me even more confused than before. It was obvious he desired me, physically at least. Like I said, I'm not stupid. I may not, admittedly, have the best self-image, but even I can tell when a man wants me, and it was clear that at least that night, he wanted me. Still, I could not for the life of me figure out what he wanted, needed, or why it was me he kept circling around, and soon I drifted into the fitful sleep of the feverish.

I vaguely recall Amelia getting home later that day and telling me that she'd spoken to my professors, before I fell back into the blackness of sleep. My dreams plagued me, taunting me with things I could never have. I dreamt of the professor, but he was on the arm of the gorgeous woman from the party, and there were beautiful children trailing behind him. I dreamt of him making love to me, but just before I could let go, he would walk away. I dreamt of Bill, and a quiet, sedate life behind a picket fence. I dreamt of Italy, and wherever I went, I kept catching glimpses of blond hair that I couldn't catch up to. The dreams were jumbled and confusing, and they were relentless, and no matter what, or who, they were about, I was never happy, never satisfied, and I was always searching, looking, seeking. I was alternately hot and flushed, cold and shivering. But always seeking, and grasping, and failing.

I remember waking up and trying to go to the bathroom. The room was shrouded in shadows, and I had trouble finding my way. I remember falling down, hearing a sickening thud, and then everything went black. I remember hearing beeping, and waking up to see that I was in a hospital room. There was an IV in my arm, and a nurse was taking my blood pressure. She pressed a few buttons on my IV, and everything went black again. I dreamt that the professor was standing the doorway watching me. His face looked stricken and sad, and I wanted to ask him what was wrong, but like all my other dreams, he was once again a blur of blond hair disappearing around a corner.

I finally woke up to discover that I'd been in the hospital for three days. Apparently, I had collapsed trying to get to my bathroom and hit my head against the toilet. Amelia found me unconscious, bleeding, and with a fever approaching one hundred and three. It turned out I didn't have the stomach flu, but a severe attack of gallstones and pancreatitis. They'd taken out my gallbladder, and I was on intravenous antibiotics and other medications. Amelia was curled up in a chair on the other side of the room, sleeping, and she looked awful. I asked the nurse, a lovely, older woman, how long she'd been there.

"Oh honey, that one's hardly left. It's either been her or that young man of yours here almost all the time."

I had to admit that it touched me to know Bill had been here throughout my ordeal. I knew he didn't like hospitals, but he clearly sucked it up to be there for me, and I found myself tearing up at the thought. Then I felt incredibly guilty. I'd promised to give him a real chance at working things out, but I had just been using him as a placeholder while I tried to make something, anything, happen with the professor; a man who was clearly unavailable. It was selfish and unfair, and I resolved to stop mooning over Professor Northman. I decided that come Thanksgiving, I was going to tell Bill that I was ready to start over. We'd head into the New Year with a fresh start.

I was finally sent home that weekend, and told to stay in bed and rest for at least another week. I groused about missing my classes, but Amelia told me she had informed all of my professors about my situation, and they'd all said that I didn't have to return until after the holiday; any assignments I had due, had extensions on them until then as well. She started to tell me how Professor Northman reacted to the news, but I cut her off. I couldn't keep playing his game, especially if I was going to make a go of things with Bill. No, it was better that I didn't indulge myself in that fantasy any longer. As my brother liked to say, it was time to fish or cut bait, and I was done fishing.

If I thought Amelia was pushy when it came to my sartorial choices, I realized I had no clue what a force of nature she could be when it came to playing nurse. My nightstand was littered with glasses of water, crossword puzzles, magazines, books, bottles of medication, and tea—the world's vilest, most disgusting concoction, which Amelia had Cope ship from New Orleans, from her favorite store for "practitioners," as she called them. She swore the tea had healing properties, and she made me drink it three times a day, while she watched. One time, as she was forcing me to drink, I yelled at her that she was trying to put me back in the hospital. She started crying and telling me how she didn't know what she would have done if she lost me, and how scared she was, and by the end, I was bawling and feeling as big as a flea for making her cry after all she did for me. After that, I didn't say another word about the tea, and gagged it down three times a day.

By the end of my second week at home, I was going stir crazy. I wanted to go back to my classes, but the look on Amelia's face dispelled that notion. She made sure I had all my books and assignments, and lent me her laptop to work from so that I wouldn't fall behind, but I wasn't allowed out of the house, although at least she let me leave my bed and park myself on the couch. During my third week, I contacted the hospital's business office to discuss making payments for my stay. I had insurance, but I knew I had a pretty big deductible, and that I would still have to pay a co-pay for my portion of the bill. However, when I called, I was informed that the bill had been taken care of. I told the woman that was not possible, but she said there was absolutely no mistake. I asked her who paid it, but she told me the person wanted to remain anonymous. I pressed her for more information, but all I managed to get out of her was that it was a man, and that was only because she slipped and said "he," before telling me to have a nice day and hanging up. As soon as Amelia got home, I was on her like white on rice, asking her if she had anything to do with her father paying my bill. It had to have been Cope. No one else I knew had that kind of money, or cared enough to pay the bill. Amelia swore she knew nothing about it, and seemed genuinely surprised.

"You know I hate other people paying for me," I reminded her. "I can take care of myself."

Amelia gave me a pointed look, as if reminding me that it was my poor care of myself, and my refusal to go see a doctor, that landed me in the hospital and near death in the first place. I sighed and said, "Fine. For now. But don't think that this is over. I'm going to pay him back." Amelia just rolled her eyes and walked to the kitchen, muttering something about pride and stubbornness.

Over the course of the three weeks between my release from the hospital and Thanksgiving, Bill stopped by several times, and I finally thanked him for being there for me.

"I know how much you hate it, but thanks for taking care of me," I said to him.

Bill looked a bit embarrassed, but mumbled, "I'm just glad to see you're feeling better." I snuggled with him on the couch, and we kissed and petted, but I wasn't feeling physically up to more. Bill, on the other hand, was clearly frustrated, if what I felt against my thigh was any indication, and after a little while, he said he had to get back to do some more work. I asked what he was working on, and huge smile lit up his face. "You are looking at Professor Niall LeFay's new research assistant," he said, the pride in his voice unmistakable.

"Oh my God!" I shrieked. "Congratulations! When did this happen?"

"Just before Halloween. It's amazing, Sookie. The man is brilliant, and this is going to be an incredible experience."

I wholeheartedly agreed with him, and I can't say that I wasn't a teensy bit jealous. I'd always admired Professor LeFay, and had been trying to get a chance to meet him or take one of his classes, but they always filled with seniors who got priority when it came to class assignments.

When I asked how, Bill told me that Professor LeFay's research assistant had to take the rest of the year off for personal reasons, which Bill wasn't too clear on, but the scuttlebutt said it had to do with a family issue. One of Bill's other professors said something about him to Professor LeFay, and voila, one thing led to another, and Bill had the job.

"Wow, Bill. I'm so proud of you!"

He pulled me in for a kiss, and I have to say it wasn't unlike the one against the trees that day. When he pulled back, I could see his eyes were darkened with desire, and I can admit that my pulse was racing. He placed my hands on the bulge in his pants and asked, "Just how proud of me are you?"

Before I could answer, he leaned forward, kissed my neck and whispered, "I miss the feel of your mouth on me." To say I was startled was an understatement. Bill had never been so blatantly forward, or verbal, in our relationship before. I still wasn't feeling a hundred percent, and I was trying to think of a way to let Bill down, when the front door flew open and Amelia stormed in, clearly pissed about something. She took one look at our positions on the couch, pointed a finger at me, and in her iciest voice said, "You just got out of the hospital and should be resting," before her eyes turned to Bill, shooting daggers.

Whatever mood might have been was shot to hell, and Bill gave me a quick peck on the cheek before repeating that he had a lot of work and leaving. I turned and gave Amelia a glare. "What crawled up your butt?" I asked her.

"Ugh, doesn't he know you just got out of the hospital? Jesus! Can't he keep his hands to himself for five minutes while you get better?"

I was taken aback. I knew Amelia wasn't a big fan of Bill's, but this was more than her usual acerbic comments. "Amelia, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong? You nearly died! You've only been out of the hospital for a couple of weeks, and he's trying to get in your pants! He didn't even bother to come to the hospital, and now he's here trying to get laid!"

I was stunned. "What do you mean he didn't bother coming to the hospital? The nurse told me that one of the two of you was always there!"

Amelia looked genuinely confused. "Well, if he was there, he was making sure I didn't see him."

Well, it was no wonder. Bill knew that Amelia didn't like him, and they had a tendency to fight like cats and dogs when we were all together, so I tried to keep them separate as much as possible.

"He probably waited until you left before coming in," I suggested, knowing that he most likely didn't want a confrontation at the hospital. Amelia just huffed, and went into the kitchen to make us dinner.

Two weeks later was finally Thanksgiving. Amelia and Cope tried one last time to convince me to come with them, but I reminded Amelia that I'd promised Bill to spend the holiday with him, and even though she made a face, she didn't say anything after that. She asked what we were doing, and I told her that Bill said it was going to be a surprise, but that I should dress nicely. That's all she needed to hear, and she was off and running through both our closets, trying to decide what _I_ should wear. Finally, I shoved her out the door when I heard Cope's car honking for the third time. She picked a dress from her closet that, I had to admit, was beautiful. It was a simple, for Amelia, little black dress. It was silk, and had V's in both the front and back, with just a touch of sequins on the straps, and cinched with a bow at the waist. It hit me just at the knees and was subtly sexy. I loved it.

Thanksgiving came, and I took care to look nice. I didn't know where we were going, but given the decision I'd made regarding my relationship with Bill, I wanted to make sure I looked good. I curled my hair, and left it down. I put on just a touch of blush, mascara, and then some raspberry colored lipstick to add some color, and I wore a pair of pearl earrings that Amelia had left for me. I also slid on a pair of stockings and a garter, before slipping on my heels. I had to grudgingly admit that Amelia was right. There was something incredibly empowering about wearing them, particularly when paired with the matching bra and thong I chose for that night.

Bill came to the door, and when he saw me, the look on his face made my heart beat a little faster. He leaned in to kiss me, and before I knew it, he had me up against the wall, his mouth trailing down my throat and his hand sliding up my leg.

"Fuck, Sookie. You look so beautiful," he groaned against my neck. The vibrations rolled through my body like a thunderstorm. I got a hold of myself and pushed him back, reminding him that we would be late. He growled lightly, but took my hand and led me to the car. I asked him again where we were going, but he just smiled and said it was a surprise. We arrived at a lovely, English manor style home, complete with mullioned windows, brick façade, and a traditional English garden filled with roses. We walked up to the door, and when it opened, I found myself face to face with none other than Niall LeFay.

"Bill!" he exclaimed. "Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!"

To say I was stunned was an understatement. I turned to look at Bill, who was grinning like the Cheshire cat. He turned to Niall and said, "Niall, this is Sookie, Sookie Stackhouse. Sookie, Niall LeFay."

"Welcome Sookie, welcome!" Professor LeFay said, as he warmly pressed my hand between both of his. His smile was so genuine and infectious that I quickly got over my nerves, and thanked him for including me in the festivities.

"Oh tosh! I love the holidays, and I love having a house full of people. That is what makes it special, don't you agree?" he asked, as he tucked my hand in the crook of his arm and led me to the dining room. I couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth course through me at the genial and warm reception I was receiving. He was just introducing me to his lovely granddaughter, Claudine, when I heard a familiar voice cut through the conversation.

"Niall, which bottle would you like me to open first?"

I turned, and there in the doorway, looking like a Nordic god in black slacks and a dark blue shirt, stood Professor Northman, holding two bottles in his hand. Our eyes locked across the room, and everything else seemed to fall away. I was so screwed. Cut bait? I realized at that moment that I wasn't the fisherman but the fish, and I'd already been hooked. I had no idea how I was going to get through that dinner without making a total ass of myself.


	16. Chapter 16

I wanted to slap Sookie silly. It was bad enough that she had agreed to spend Thanksgiving with that cheating son-of-a-bitch, but then she decided she was getting back together with him. If it wasn't for the fact that she was still recuperating, I probably would have hit her. Hell, I still wanted to hit her for nearly getting herself killed. I'd never been as scared in my life as I was that night. When I came in and found her on that bathroom floor, her head bleeding, and her face pale as death, well I was sure I was too late. I saw her take a shuddering breath, however, and sobbed with relief. I ran for the phone and called 911.

The next twenty-four hours were a nightmare. It was touch and go for a while. Sookie had ignored the pain and fever long enough that she needed surgery, and she'd developed pancreatitis. She was near death when I found her, and they still weren't a hundred percent sure how she would respond to treatment. After that first day though, they said she was improving, and that she would be out of the SICU in a couple of days. I stayed at the hospital all the time for those first few days, going home only to shower and make a few phone calls. I called my dad, who wanted to hire the best doctors, of course, but I assured him that she was receiving excellent care. Although, I'm still not certain that the "attending" physician who showed up the next day was a regular on staff, but I wasn't going to complain too much. I also had to call Bill, which I hated doing, but I knew Sookie would want me to. Of course we immediately started fighting, and he yelled at me for not telling him sooner. Not that it mattered. I saw neither hair nor hide of him the entire time she was in the hospital. The next thing I did was call her professors, to let them know that the "stomach flu" turned out to be a bit more serious than previously thought. Well, I called all of them except Professor Northman; him I wanted to see in person.

Sookie tried to hide the marks on her neck after the Halloween party, but when she got sick it was impossible for her to worry about them, and I'll just state for the record: she was marked up pretty good. I'd had my suspicions about the fabulous dancer that night, and about where Sookie disappeared to for an hour, but since she didn't say anything, I didn't bring it up. Honestly, did she think there were that many six foot, four inch men that were so obviously enamored of her that it could be seen through a mask? A blind man could have sensed the chemistry between them that night.

So, I went to his office that day, and found him sitting at his desk, a red pen in hand, grading a paper. I was surprised to hear some cool music playing. All my other professors seemed to find it de rigueur to play only classical music. Anyway, he recognized me from my earlier visit and invited me to sit down. I did and I told him that Sookie was in the hospital. At first, his reaction was cool, and he merely asked if it was serious. At his question, I couldn't help myself. I burst into tears and told him the entire story; finding her unconscious, the ride in the ambulance, emergency surgery, her near death, everything.

If I had any doubts about how that man felt for Sookie, they were wiped clean away at that moment. I don't remember the last time I saw so much fear and pain in someone's eyes. Almost immediately he tried to school his features, but in that instant I saw it and I knew. I know people think I'm flighty, and rightfully so, I suppose. But I'm pretty good at reading people, and I'm rarely wrong. The only person who has ever stumped me is my own father, but don't get me started on the psychology of our relationship. It's . . . complicated. Anyway, like I was saying, I knew the look in the professor's eyes; even if he didn't know what the hell he was feeling; the man was head over heels in love with Sookie and was terrified at the thought of losing her. A second later his face was a calm mask again, and he thanked me for letting him know. It was almost frightening to see the expediency with which he brought that calm persona into play, and I realized it was a much practiced reaction. I couldn't help but wonder what pain this man had suffered in his life that taught him to shut down his emotions so thoroughly. Obviously I couldn't ask him, so instead I asked if there were any assignments Sookie would have to worry about, but he said there was nothing due until the end of the term, when their final papers were due.

I spent the next few days at the hospital, going home only to shower, eat, make phone calls, and take care of day to day affairs. After a couple of nights, the torturous chair in the room was replaced with a recliner, and I was grateful as it was much more comfortable. Sookie finally woke up and moved out of the SICU. Fucking Bill never made an appearance, although he called and told her he was stuck working on a project. What project could ever keep you from someone you claim to love?

When Sookie finally got out of the hospital, I called Professor Northman to tell him that she was going to need a couple more weeks of rest. He asked how she was doing, and although I know he was trying to sound casual, I could hear the concern in his voice. How is it that Sookie doesn't see this? I swear I want to throw the two of them into a room, lock the door and throw away the key. I was ready to kill her when she told me she didn't want to hear about Professor Northman, and that she was going to get back together with Bill on a permanent basis.

I came home one night, saw Bill's car parked out front, and I saw red. How could Sookie be so blind? As I was walking in I heard him say he missed the feel of her mouth on him, and I was stunned. How selfish could the man be? Ugh, she was barely out of the hospital and he wanted a blow job? I chased him off and turned on Sookie in complete frustration. She had a man who was clearly in love with her, and instead she was messing around with this asshole. Then she told me that Bill had been at the hospital, and I was stunned. I'd never seen him there. He hadn't been there, and I have no idea what he said to make her believe that was true.

Daddy and I tried to convince Sookie to spend Thanksgiving with us, but she was determined to spend it with Bill. I have to admit, Daddy was particularly insistent on the matter, and I can say that it touched me to see how much he worried about Sookie. I helped her pick out a dress for the holiday, and then I had to go. I just had to keep my fingers crossed and hope Bill showed his true colors, and that Sookie would boot him from her life once and for all.


	17. Chapter 17

I stood in the doorway, a bottle of wine in each hand and my words died on my tongue. She was standing in Niall's dining room, and she was fucking beautiful. I felt my heart trying to hammer its way out of my chest, and my vision narrowed until the only thing I could see was her. My eyes slid over her, taking in her legs, her dress, her face, and her beautiful hair, which was gloriously swaying with her movements, the curls bouncing and caressing her shoulders. Her mouth—fuck—that mouth, looked like a berry ripe for picking, and when her eyes fell on me, it formed the most perfect "o." It was innocent and erotic all at once, and I felt my dick begin to stir.

The last time I saw her, she was lying in a hospital bed, with tubes running out of her, but even then she was beautiful. She looked fragile and ethereal, her blond hair framing her face like a halo. When her friend Amelia came to me a few days after Halloween and told me Sookie had the stomach flu, I can't deny that I thought she was just trying to avoid me. I also can't deny that a part of me was relieved. I had still been trying to process what had happened on Halloween. I'd been so sure she didn't know who I was, but then I shouldn't have been too surprised. I doubt Sookie would have allowed someone she didn't know to touch her in that way. I was so sure of myself though, and felt foolish when she walked away. So when Amelia told me Sookie wouldn't be in class, relief coursed through me. I knew it was cowardly, but it was still how I felt. It had taken so much energy in those previous weeks to ignore her that it was almost liberating not to have to worry about it. Or so I thought. A couple of days after she first talked to me, Amelia returned to let me know that Sookie was in the hospital. She was in tears, and by the time everything was said and done, I'd gathered that Sookie had nearly died, and was still unconscious. I felt my heart launch itself into my throat in fear.

I went home that evening, and tried to read, but it was a futile endeavor. I couldn't stop thinking about her, worrying about her, and before I even knew what I was doing, I was in my car heading to the hospital. I walked in and was greeted with a smile by the lovely, middle-aged woman behind the front desk.

"Eric," she said warmly. "What are you doing here?"

"Grace! You look lovely, as always," I replied, as I gave her a hug. "I just found out a friend of mine was admitted."

"Oh no! What's the name?"

"Sookie Stackhouse."

Grace spent a moment looking it up on the computer, before turning to me and giving me the room number. "How are you doing, Eric?" She asked. "How is. . ."

I cut her off before she could finish. "Fine. Everything is fine. Thanks Grace." And I gave her a kiss on the cheek before heading to the elevator. That was not a conversation I wanted to have right then. I went up to the third floor, and went to the nurses' station. Once again I heard my name called.

"Eric!" I turned and spotted a large, matronly woman headed my way. I forced a smile on my face.

"Elizabeth," I said, as she hugged me. "How are you?"

"I'm good, I'm good. What are you doing here?"

Once more I recounted the sad story of my "friend."

"Oh that poor girl," she said. "She's lucky her roommate found her when she did." My heart dropped into my stomach. It was one thing to listen to Sookie's hysterical roommate tell me things were dire. It was quite another to hear a professional tell me how close Sookie had come to dying.

"Is she awake?" I asked.

"No. Not yet."

"Is someone with her?"

"Not right now. Her friend Amelia's been here almost non-stop, but we finally convinced her to go home and get a little rest. She'll feel so much better when she finds out you were here with Ms. Stackhouse."

"No!" I said a bit too emphatically. "No. Please don't tell her I was here. We're not that close, and I think she might be embarrassed." I continued, trying to backpedal. She raised an eyebrow at me. "Just please don't say anything," I finally resorted to pleading.

She gave me a strange, knowing look, but then she smiled and said, "If it was anyone else . . ."

She showed me to Sookie's room, and left me there. At first my feet didn't want to walk through the doorway, as if they knew where they were and just wanted to go running in the other direction. I couldn't blame them, since the rest of me felt the same way. It was just too familiar. I forced myself to cross that threshold, and the sight of her took my breath away, and not in a good way. I felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. I grabbed the footboard for support, and my hand hit the chart clipped there. I glanced around surreptitiously, and then picked it up. I knew it was wrong to read her private medical history, but the woman was an enigma to me, and I needed answers, even if they weren't to the questions I was really dying to ask. A small part of my brain even hoped there would be some sort of medical explanation for my attraction to her; a surplus of pheromones, or something similar. Anything to explain this pull she had on me.

The first thing I noticed was her date of birth. I did the math in my head, and realized that Sookie was a few years older than I thought. This was no impressionable young woman barely out of her teens, but one who had a little more life experience under her belt. Of course, this one answer led to a myriad of other questions. Why did she wait four years to go to college? What had she done with her life during those years? Had she gone backpacking in Europe? Is that where she learned Italian? I shook my head to clear my thoughts.

I also saw that under "family" there was only one name, Jason Stackhouse, brother. Well, if she had a brother, where the hell was he? His sister nearly died, and he wasn't there. I felt a slight growl in my chest, as I thought about how wrong it was that the only people here were her roommate, and her slightly obsessed, probably creepy English professor. In addition to the names of her family members, there was a list of "emergency contacts," but only two names were listed, Amelia Broadway, her roommate, and Copley Carmichael. That name tickled at my memory, and I wondered what his connection to Sookie was. I also realized that I didn't like the thoughts I was having of what that connection might be. On the other hand, I smiled to myself when I saw that Bill Compton's name was not on that list. Whatever the nature of their relationship, it hadn't progressed far enough for him to be notified by the hospital. In fact, I sort of wondered at the fact that he wasn't there, by her side. If she were mine . . . I stopped that train of thought in its tracks. She wasn't mine, and she never would be. It just wasn't possible. I would make sure she was alright, and then it was done.

I spent the next couple of nights skulking around the hospital, sneaking in to see her when I saw Amelia leave. She'd developed a routine of going home after dinner, presumably to shower and deal with her life, and then returning much later to sleep on the uncomfortable chair in the room. I had the nurses bring in a recliner, as I knew how uncomfortable that chair was. On the third night, I sat next to Sookie and tentatively brushed the hair from her forehead. It was the first time I'd allowed myself to touch her, and even though she was still unconscious, my fingers tingled at the sensation. She began to stir, and I heard her mumble something incoherent, but a moment later it happened again, only this time I heard her, "Don't. Please. Please stop." She sounded so upset, and although I knew it was silly to be angry at someone in her dream, I was. I didn't like the thought of her being troubled, even by an imaginary person. She kicked restlessly, and once again spoke, whispering, "Professor, stop." My hand froze and I had a sudden urge to throw up. I was disgusted with myself. I quickly stepped away from her, and backed up to the door. For a moment I thought I saw her eyes flicker open and look right at me, but I quickly fled the room.

I was an asshole. I'd been so consumed with how _I_ felt about her, and how badly _I_ wanted her, that I didn't stop to think how my inappropriate behavior was affecting her. I'd thought she was willingly engaged with me each time, but maybe this was really a classic case of sexual harassment? Maybe she did it because she thought she had to? I felt sick to my stomach, and I was shaking by the time I reached the elevator. I pulled out my phone as I waited, and I dialed. I had to get distance. This had to stop.

"Hello?" The voice on the other answered.

"Niall? I'll do it." I said. The elevator dinged and I continued, "Cambridge, I'll do it."

"Excellent, Eric! I'll let them know."

"Great. Thank you, Niall. My elevator is here. I have to go." We said a quick goodbye and I stepped in. I had one more thing to take care of. I rode down to the second floor, and headed to the hospital's billing office. Once I used my family's name, it took all of five minutes to take care of having Sookie's medical bills sent to me, and to ensure that it remained anonymous. It helps when that wing of the hospital has your family's name on it – The Norrman Critical Care Center.

I didn't go back to the hospital after that. I called, spoke to the nurses, and got updates from them. After Sookie's release from the hospital, Amelia called me once to tell me that Sookie would have to miss a couple more weeks of class. I told her not to worry about it, and asked how she was. Amelia told me that she was doing as well as could be expected, and was resting. And that was the last I'd heard. I no longer could ask the nurses, and I obviously couldn't call Amelia for the information. I spent those weeks without her in class building up my defenses once more. Class proceeded, and without her enticing scent distracting me, I gave what I felt were some of my best lectures.

The week before Thanksgiving, however, as everyone was gathering their books at the end of class, I saw Compton leaning over a desk, talking to a young woman in the class. She was giggling, and it was obvious they were flirting with each other. I saw them exchange numbers, and then she left. Compton stood there smirking. As he and his friend Terry Bellefleur began to walk out of the room, I heard Bellefleur ask, "What about Sookie?" Compton shrugged and said, "She's been sick. I'm bored." The two of them looked at each other like they were both in on the biggest joke, and then high fived each other as they walked out. _That son of a bitch!_ Impotent rage coursed through me, and I was shaking with the force of it, as I realized there was absolutely nothing I could do. It also occurred to me that I had no idea what the nature of the relationship between Compton and Sookie was, if there was any relationship, but given what Bellefleur asked there was obviously something going on. Still, I wanted nothing more than to hit Compton in his smug face. My anger was not helped later that day when over some coffee Niall informed me that Compton was his new research assistant. Apparently another professor had recommended him, and I had to grudgingly admit his work was good, even if I couldn't stand the man personally. Niall saw the look on my face, and asked me what was wrong. What could I say that wouldn't give me away? So I told him that Compton had never particularly impressed me, but that I was sure he would do fine. Then I went and swam for an hour to work off my anger. I decided to just let it go. After Thanksgiving, there were only a few more weeks until the end of the term, and then I would be through with both of them. I would be on my way to Cambridge, and I could begin to exorcise Sookie Stackhouse from my life. It never occurred to me in a million years that Niall would invite Compton to Thanksgiving, and that with one tiny gesture of hospitality, Niall would unwittingly skewer my plans.

When I walked into Niall's dining room with the wine, and saw Compton and Sookie, I was stunned. I stood there, with my heart trying to jump out of my chest and my dick doing a happy dance in my pants, and I found myself unable to speak as I drank in the sight of her. Thank God for Felicia. Quick on the uptake, as always, she instantly jumped in and began introducing herself to both of them, preventing me from making a complete ass of myself. I realized I had no fucking clue how I was going to get through dinner. I just had to try and remember that she'd been having nightmares about me.

I pulled myself together enough to extend my hand to each of them in turn, "Mr. Compton, Ms. Stackhouse. I don't think I've ever had the pleasure of spending the holiday with my students."

Niall chimed in, "When I discovered that Bill was not heading home for the holiday I just had to invite him. You know how I feel about people being alone on the holidays, Eric. Of course, I extended the invitation when he asked if he could bring a friend."

"Of course, Niall." I responded politely, while inwardly I was screaming in frustration and silently cursing Niall's generosity.

"And dispense with the formalities for the evening, Eric. We're all on a first name basis here."

"Forgive me," I said, but I knew my tone still sounded clipped. "William," I acknowledged Compton. "Sookie, it's good to see you are feeling better. I heard it was quite serious." I remained polite and aloof, but all I wanted to do was tell her how beautiful she looked, and then shove her up against the wall and take her.

"Thank you," she said in a quiet voice. "I'm feeling much better." I could tell I was making her uncomfortable, so I went back to dealing with the wine. I stayed on the other side of the room and engaged in conversation with one of Claudine's co-workers whom she'd invited, but I couldn't keep my eyes from straying over to Sookie, and more than once I caught her staring back at me over the rim of her wine glass. However, more often I caught her staring at Felicia, and I found that quite odd.

Felicia came over to me, wrapped an arm around my waist and asked, "Are you okay?" I had told Felicia everything that happened at Halloween, and since. Well, not every detail, but the gist of it. Of course, being Felicia, she tried to convince me to go to the hospital and talk to Sookie, but I refused. I told her about Sookie's nightmares, and that I'd agreed to Cambridge. Of course, there was no way I could go to Cambridge unless Felicia was on board with it and willing to help. She knew it was good for my career, and was more than willing to assist me. "Eric, you're wrong about her," she said. "She can't take her eyes off you."

I snorted softly into my wine glass, "Actually, Felicia dearest, she can't seem to take her eyes off of you. Maybe I'm not really her type." And then I wished I hadn't said that, because the fantasies that suddenly popped into my head were anything but appropriate for the holiday.

Felicia shook her head in exasperation. "That's because she's jealous, you overgrown moron. Honestly, I don't know how you can have so much experience with women, and be such a complete idiot when it comes to this one."

 _Jealous? Of Felicia?_ It suddenly occurred to me that Sookie probably assumed Felicia and I were together. Then I felt like an even bigger ass, since she probably thought that I was cheating on Felicia each time I was with her. "Fuck my life," I whispered, as I ran my hand through my hair. Felicia laughed lightly and walked away. I was trying to figure out how to get Sookie alone to explain it to her, although the little devil on my shoulder was trying to convince me to get her alone for completely different reasons, when Niall called me over to help him. Niall and Claudine always did the cooking, but every year it fell to me to carve the turkey. I had my back to the kitchen door, when I heard Felicia saying, "So, you're one of Eric's students?"

"Yes," I heard Sookie reply, and I nearly sliced off my finger. They had walked into the kitchen, so I know they saw me, and I heard Sookie ask in a voice I was sure was meant for me, "How long have you and Profess . . . I mean, Eric, been together?" This time I did cut myself, and a stream of expletives came out of my mouth. Instantly there were two heads looking down at my hand, one golden and one brown. I squeezed my eyes shut and thought, _this can't be happening_.

"Eric," Felicia said, "Maman would wash your mouth out with soap if she heard you just now. It's not that bad, here." She handed me a paper towel to wrap around my finger, before turning back to Sookie. "Eric and I have 'been together' since we were children, but we're not a couple if that's what you meant. My mother worked for his family. That big lug over there is my best friend and the only family I still have."

I chanced a glance over at the two of them, and caught Sookie's eyes. They were softer, and when she caught me staring back, a beautiful blush crept into her cheeks. I forced myself to look away and return my attention to the turkey; otherwise, I would have probably slipped and stabbed myself with the carving knife. The woman was turning me into a bumbling idiot, and I suddenly felt like a gangly teenager with his first crush. Finally the turkey was carved and dinner was ready.

As always, Niall's dinner was a sumptuous affair, but with a traditional bent. There was turkey with stuffing, as well as a separate dressing, sweet potato soufflé, mashed potatoes with gravy, three different vegetable dishes, homemade bread, and several excellent bottles of wine. The table looked beautiful, and there were place cards at each seat. I was surprised to find myself seated next to Sookie, while Compton was seated across from her and next to Claudine. Felicia sat between Compton and Niall, who was at the head of the table, while Felipe, the man from Claudine's work, sat between Sookie and Claudine. I had no doubt that Felicia had something to do with the seating arrangement, and one look at her face, with her twinkling eyes, confirmed it.

Before we could start eating, however, Niall insisted that we continue with the tradition he instituted a few years ago. We had to go around the table and say what we were thankful for. Niall began by saying he was thankful that we could all be there, and for having both Claudine and me in his life. Felicia went next, saying she was thankful to have me in her life and for the big client she just landed. We all laughed a little at that part. Compton went next and said he was thankful to have Sookie in his life, and while I didn't blame him, I wanted to roll my eyes because I knew how insincere he was. His bullshit infuriated me. Of course, Sookie got all doe-eyed when he said it, and I felt my inner caveman start screaming to be let out. I honestly paid no attention to what either Claudine or Felipe had to say, as I was too busy trying to rein in my anger at Compton. Then it was Sookie's turn, and I could see she was uncomfortable and that her blush was creeping up her chest and neck. She said she was thankful to be alive and to be included in our gathering, and that she was thankful to the mysterious benefactor who paid for her medical expenses, and hoped that whoever and wherever he was, he was enjoying the holiday as well as she was. I chanced a glance at Felicia, and caught her staring daggers at me. I'd left out that part of my tale. She knew me well enough to know that I'd paid for Sookie's bills, and she was pissed that I didn't tell her. I was going to pay for that later. Then it was my turn. I said that I was thankful for family, both blood and surrogate, and for the opportunities that were being afforded to me. I knew Niall and Felicia would both understand I meant Cambridge, but I was not in the mood to discuss it with anyone else yet.

Just as I finished, there was a flash and a loud crack of thunder, and the lights flickered slightly. We all jumped a little, and then laughed at ourselves. We heard the sound of rain begin to fall, but inside it was snug and warm, and the fire danced in the fireplace. Finally we could start eating and, surprisingly, the conversation flowed nicely. I was worried that it would be awkward, but I think with all the wine being drunk and the food being so delicious, it put everyone at ease. Sookie and I wound up engaged in a debate about several films, and Compton was talking to Claudine and Felicia, although I noticed that he seemed to be getting rather inebriated. I was surprised because I had not noticed him refill his wine glass, but I supposed I was just distracted by Sookie. When we finished eating, Sookie helped Claudine and me clear the table. Niall came into the kitchen to make coffee, and then I heard Felicia call me. I walked back into the dining room to see a dangerously swaying Compton, barely being held up by Felicia.

"Umm, I think we need to lay him down somewhere," she said.

I grimaced. "You think?" I put one of his arms over my shoulder and helped hold him up. I half carried, half dragged him to Niall's guest room. He was out cold the minute I dumped him on the bed, and Felicia removed his shoes and pulled the covers over him. I stood looking at him for a moment. "I didn't think he had that much to drink," I mused.

"Well, ummm," Felicia began.

I looked at her. "Felicia, what did you do?"

"Well, I might have found out that Sookie had some pain killers in her purse from her surgery, and I might have put one tiny one in his wine glass?" She said, posing it as a question.

I stared at her for a moment, and then I couldn't help but burst into laughter. I pulled her into a hug and whispered, "You're something else, you know that?"

"Yeah, well he's totally obnoxious. He had his hand on my knee throughout dinner, even while he was telling us all how thankful he was for Sookie."

I blanched, and unconsciously found my hands curling into fists, ready to punch his already unconscious ass into oblivion. Felicia put a restraining hand on my shoulder. "C'mon Eric. He's out cold, and he won't be bothering us anymore tonight. Let's go check on Sookie."

I let Felicia lead me back downstairs, and found that the coffee was brewing, and we were taking a short break to walk about and digest before digging in to dessert. Sookie was looking around, clearly wondering where Bill had gotten to, and Felicia jumped in and explained to her that Bill seemed have had a bit much to drink and was lying down. "But don't worry," she added. "I'm sure Eric will be happy to give you a ride home later." I could have killed her. She gave me a sly smile and walked over to Niall, leaving Sookie and me alone. There was a moment of awkward silence, but before either of us could think of something to say, Niall piped up. "Eric, would you be a darling and go to the cellar and find some good dessert wine." I looked over at Felicia, because I was sure this was her doing. If Niall had intended to have dessert wine tonight, it would have been planned and paired with the menu a month ago. She looked at me innocently, smiled, and then said, "Why don't you show Sookie the wine cellar, Eric?" I was going to kill her later. I had no choice but to play the part, so I looked at Sookie, extended my hand and said, "Would you like a tour?"

Her little hand slipped into mine, and the all too familiar jolt passed between us. I know she felt it too, because her eyes instantly flew up to mine. We held each other's gaze for a heartbeat too long, before I remembered myself and led her to the staircase. I flicked on the light, and we headed down the narrow stairs. Her hand was hot in mine, and I could feel her pulse racing. She stumbled slightly on one of the steps, and I caught her around the waist to keep her from falling. I had to bite back a groan at how good she felt pressed against my side. She blushed and quickly pulled away.

We got to the bottom and she let out a slight gasp, "Wow!"

I had to agree with her. Niall's wine cellar was no simple basement. True to form, it was a completely finished space, complete with a wine tasting bar, table and chairs, and other items. Still, it was his impressive wine collection that always garnered gasps. For nearly the entire length of his home, the cellar was floor to ceiling wine racks.

"I know," I replied. "I said the same thing the first time I came down here."

I couldn't help but be taken in by the look on her face. It held the wonderment of a child seeing their first snowfall. I took her hand and led her further in, showing her how the rock walls helped keep the proper temperature, and how Niall had organized the wines by region and type. We were walking toward the back, where I knew I'd find the Sauternes. Just then, there was another loud crack of thunder, and the lights went out. Sookie screamed and literally jumped into my arms. I chuckled slightly, but also couldn't help the rumble of appreciation that rolled through my chest at the feel of her against me. I felt her fingers dig into my shoulders.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don't like the dark."

"It's okay. I've got you," I said, and how I suddenly wished that were true.

She released me and pulled away, but I heard her stumble in the dark and mutter, "Shit!" I laughed.

"I'll be right back. Let me get some candles."

"O-okay," she said, but I could hear the fear in her voice.

"I swear I'll be right back, Sookie."

Thankfully, I knew my way through the cellar and quickly found the candles and matches at the tasting bar. Thank God Niall loved ambiance. I lit one and made my way back to her. I found her standing there with her arms wrapped around herself, clearly scared. Even so, she was luminous. Her eyes were large, and in the candle light they reflected a warmth and depth that pierced me. Her skin glowed, and the light flickered and danced across her face. She relaxed when she saw me again, and a tentative smile lit up her face. I felt my gaze drift down over her. She really looked stunning that night, and I felt my breath hitch as I looked at her. In the candle light she was otherworldly, like one of the fae come to lead me through the mists to Avalon.

I couldn't help myself. "You are so unbelievably beautiful," I whispered.

For a moment, there was silence and then she threw herself at me. Her arms wrapped themselves around my neck, pulling my face towards hers. For the briefest moment I tried to resist, but it was futile. Her scent surrounded me, and her touch ignited my blood. When her lips met mine, I was lost. Her mouth was so sweet and pliant, and her hand worked itself into my hair, gripping tightly. I gave in and wound my arms around her, crushing her to me. I kissed her until we were both breathless and gasping for air. I trailed my lips and tongue down her neck and across her throat, until I felt her pulse under my mouth, and I suckled the spot. My hands made their way up to the sides of her face, and I pulled back to stare at her once more before my mouth descended on hers again. It was like her mouth was made to dance with mine. There were no awkward moments, no confusion about what to do with our tongues or where to tilt our heads. She backed me up until I hit the wall, and then her fingers were desperately trying to unbutton my shirt; she pulled it open, and her mouth was attacking my chest and then latched onto my nipple, sucking on it, licking it, and biting it lightly. My head flew back as I lost myself in the sensation and concentrated on the feel of her hot breath on my skin, knowing that it was wrong, knowing that this had to be the last time, and not giving a flying fuck. Her mouth moved across my chest, taking in the other nipple, and I felt her hands at my belt, tugging, and then my pants were unbuttoned and her hand was grasping me, and any restraint I may have had, any doubts, were obliterated as she deftly grasped and began to stroke me through my boxers. I growled and grabbed her by the waist, lifting her up. I carried her to the table near the staircase, and swept everything off of it. I sat her down, and stood between her legs. I went back to the bar and lit more candles so I could see her. I kissed her once more and then pushed her down so she was lying flat on her back on the table. I slid my hands up her legs, pulling her dress up as I went, and groaned at the sight of her lingerie. My cock grew impossibly harder as I looked at her splayed out before me.

I reached up and tore her thong off of her. I needed to see all of her. Her bare sex was shining with the evidence of her arousal, and she was swollen with need. This was no time for teasing, and I plunged two fingers into her. Her moans shot straight to my dick, and I ground myself against her thigh.

"Wait," she suddenly whispered, and I was afraid she'd realized the enormity of our mistake. Instead she growled, "Come here." I move toward her head, and she turned slightly and quickly finished undoing my pants and freeing my erection. She pulled it toward her mouth. She slid back, so that her head hung off the table, and I could watch as I plunged in and out of her mouth. I could see the muscles of her throat constrict and relax around my length, and I nearly came from that alone. Instead I bent over her, grateful that my tall frame allowed me to reach her, and flicked my tongue against her clit. Her moans vibrated around me, and I felt myself pulse slightly in her mouth. I brought my mouth against her, sucking her hardened nub between my lips, and sliding my fingers into her wet warmth once more. Her muscles contracted around my fingers, grasping and seeking. I moved them in and out, and continued suckling her, as her mouth continued to work me. Finally, I crooked my fingers upwards and found her sweet spot. I massaged it for a moment, and then bit lightly on her clit. She screamed around my cock, and I felt her entire body spasm with her release. Her cries triggered my own, and my hips pumped hard against her as I came down her throat. I stood there shuddering, as she slowly released me from her mouth. She sat up as I pulled up my pants. I came back around to face her. She was looking down, as if she was suddenly embarrassed. I put my finger under her chin and tilted her face back up.

"Thank you," I whispered, and I kissed her gently. I slid my tongue along her lower lip, asking for entrance. I deepened the kiss, not wanting to let the moment end. Then, suddenly, the lights came back on. We broke off, both of us laughing lightly. Felicia's voice at the top of the stairs called out, "Are you guys okay down there?" Sookie buried her face in my shoulder to smother her laughter, and I called back, "Yeah, we'll be right up." I looked at Sookie and said, "I guess I should grab some wine, huh?" She laughed again, and I ran back to find a couple bottles.

A few minutes later we were back upstairs, and everyone was laughing and telling us how they were tripping over each other until Niall got the candles lit. We all sat down once more, and gorged ourselves on pumpkin and apple pie with fresh whipped cream. Claudine was truly an expert baker. All too soon it was time to go. Felicia and I had come together, so we finally realized there was no choice but for me to drive Compton's car, as it was a manual transmission and Sookie didn't know how to drive it, while Felicia followed in my car. We loaded Compton into the backseat, and left. The ride was silent except for Sookie's directions, as if leaving Niall's house signaled a return to the real world. We finally arrived at her apartment, and I dragged Compton up the stairs, while Felicia waited in my car. Sookie told me to put him down on the couch, and a surge of relief swept through me when I realized she wasn't putting him in her bed. I had no right to those feelings, but that didn't stop me from having them. Not only did I have no right to them, I didn't want them, and I couldn't afford them. My hand was on the doorknob, and I squared my shoulders and turned around to look at her. I was going to have to tell her something, but I couldn't bear the thought of hurting her. Once again I was grateful that in a few weeks I'd be gone. I knew it was the coward's way, but I didn't care. I realized it wasn't only the best thing for me, but for her. "Sookie," I began, but she must have seen something in my face, because her eyes became sad and she brought her finger to mouth. "Shhh," she said. "Let's just blame it on the storm, okay?" I reached up and tucked a stray curl behind her ear, and nodded. "Happy Thanksgiving, Sookie," I whispered, and then I walked out the door.


	18. Chapter 18

The door closed and I leaned back against it with a soft sigh. A single tear rolled down my face before I stopped myself from crying any more. I was not going to shed tears over what happened, and in all honesty I was also a little disgusted with myself. Hadn't I just decided to give Bill a real chance at fixing our relationship? Hadn't he been there for me when I was sick? Hadn't he surprised me by introducing me to Niall, the man I'd been so anxious to meet for so long? And within minutes of being in Eric's presence, my resolve had disappeared completely.

But oh God, the way he looked! For a minute there was no one else in the room but him, and his glacier blue eyes were locked with mine, until Felicia jumped in and introduced herself to me and Bill. I immediately recognized her as the beautiful woman from the Halloween party, and realized that she was there with Eric, confirming my belief that they were together. I suddenly felt awful, and guilty, and sickened by my behavior. I'd seen them together at the party, but did nothing to discourage what happened between us that night. And right then I realized that I was the "other woman," and I felt about an inch tall. Then Eric stuck out his hand, and was all business, as if he hadn't had his head between my legs just a few weeks before. He was shaking hands with us and addressing us by our last names, until Niall chided him. It was sweet really, seeing the relationship they had. It was clearly more than just boss and employee. Niall obviously thought of Eric as a son, and this was reinforced by the thanks each of them gave at dinner. Then Eric asked how I was feeling, and I told him I was doing better, but I was so ashamed of myself I nearly whispered.

Eric left us then, and went to the other side of the room, as far from me as possible, while Bill and I chatted with Niall and Claudine. His granddaughter was really a lovely woman, and I wanted to speak to her about her job. Being an editor would be a dream job for me, so I asked her if her publishing house offered any summer internships. We spoke for a while, and she gave me the name of someone to contact regarding a summer job. I couldn't help but look over at Eric and Felicia during that time, particularly Felicia. I felt so guilty, and frankly, I was also jealous. She was a gorgeous woman, and it was obvious why Eric, hell, why any man, would want her. I couldn't understand what he might want from me when he had her. I decided he must just enjoy the illicitness of it, the naughtiness, and the thrill of the forbidden. That said, I found myself stealing glances at Felicia constantly, and I had to admit I was incredibly jealous of her. I hated that I felt that way, but I had to be honest with myself. The worst moment was when I saw her walk over to him and wrap her arm around his waist. The gesture was so intimate, so practiced, that it was clear they had been together for a long time. I felt Bill's hand on my hip, and he gave it a slight squeeze, and when I looked at him he seemed irritated, although he quickly wiped it off his face. I couldn't help but wonder if he noticed the glances I kept stealing at Eric and Felicia.

Then I heard Niall call Eric into the kitchen, and a few minutes later Felicia joined us, and before I knew it, she was leading me into the kitchen. Eric's back was to us as he was carving the turkey, and I saw him stiffen when Felicia asked if I was one of his students. She was so lovely and welcoming, and I felt so awful for what we'd done that I wanted to lash out at him in some way. So, making sure my voice would carry to him, I asked her how long they'd been together. The next thing I knew, Eric was cursing up a blue streak, and Felicia and I were both looking at a bloody gash in his finger. _Ha! Serves you right!_ I thought, although I immediately felt bad for thinking something so mean. I had to stifle a laugh when Felicia said her mother would wash Eric's mouth out with soap. The image it conjured . . . well, let's say it took a lot not to laugh. Then Felicia stunned me by telling me that she and Eric were not "together" but that he was like her family. My heart warmed to hear it, and when Eric caught my eye I blushed, embarrassed that I had thought so poorly of him, and excited by the fact that he was unattached. Felicia and I spoke for a few more minutes, and she asked after my health. Apparently, she overheard Eric ask how I was feeling. I told her that I was fine, and that if I had any pain, I could always take one of the pills I'd brought with me, and then I thanked her for her concern. She really was an absolute sweetheart, and reminded me a bit of Amelia, although she seemed much more grounded.

I wandered back into the dining room, and Bill grabbed my arm. "Where were you?" he hissed. I yanked my arm free, annoyed with his behavior, but before I could respond, Niall was calling us all to the table. I was surprised to find myself seated next to Eric, and across from Bill, but assumed that Niall wanted to ensure that we all mingled. Before we began to eat, however, Niall made us all go around and explain was we were thankful for. It was actually a very touching idea, and I was impressed with the love that clearly flowed between Niall, Claudine, Eric and Felicia. They had created a little family for themselves, although it made me wonder what happened to the rest of their families. It also made me a little sad, because other than Amelia and now perhaps Bill, I really had no one. Jason, God love him, was a pretty scarce brother. He'd only called once after he found out I was sick. I have to say I was pretty disappointed in him, and quite hurt. I was happy I'd agreed to stay at school with Bill over the holiday. I don't think I could have faced Jason just yet, angry with him as I was. When it was my turn, I had to honestly say I was thankful that I was alive, and I gave thanks to whoever it was that paid my medical bills. I'd suspected that it was Cope, but Amelia swore she knew nothing about it. I noticed a brief exchange of glances between Eric and Felicia, but was then distracted by a look from Bill. He seemed quite upset, and I wasn't exactly sure why.

Finally we started eating, and although I was worried that things would be incredibly awkward, the evening moved along quite nicely. I had a lovely conversation with Felipe, Claudine's co-worker, and became even more determined to try and get my foot in the door there. If the company had two such nice people there, it must be a great place to work. Then Claudine commented on a movie she'd just seen, and before I knew it, Eric and I were having a debate about the virtues of various classic films, and then found we agreed on the ridiculousness of Hollywood's current trend of remaking every film. Bill seemed to have loosened up, and was animatedly talking to both Claudine and Felicia, and I was glad to see that whatever bug had crawled up his butt earlier in the evening, seemed to have disappeared. The food and wine were amazing, and Niall was a perfect host. I was in heaven. I hadn't enjoyed Thanksgiving so much since Gran passed. When we were all done stuffing our faces, I helped Eric and Claudine clear the table. I thought it was incredibly sweet to see Eric helping out. Bill and Jason were both quite spoiled in that regard, and never lifted a finger to do "women's work" as Jason called it. Although, the last time he used that phrase around me, he earned himself a smack to the back of the head.

I heard Felicia call Eric back to the dining room, but I continued to help Claudine scrape the plates and pack up the leftovers into Tupperware containers. She also made a point of getting me her card, and insisting that I contact her so she could set me up with the right people at her firm. The woman was beyond sweet. Niall came into the kitchen to make the coffee, and although I'd been in awe of the man for so long, his charm and warm demeanor prevented me from being too awestruck, and soon he and I and Claudine were laughing over stories of Thanksgiving disasters past. We finished up in the kitchen, and Niall suggested we all take a break and let the food digest a bit, before we tackled coffee and dessert. I couldn't agree more, but when I went back into the dining room, I realized that Bill, Eric, and Felicia were missing. I found Felipe perusing Niall's book collection in the library, but he had no idea where the others had gotten to. I went back towards the kitchen, where I found Eric and Felicia. They told me that Bill seemed to have had a bit much to drink, and was lying down in Niall's guest room. I have to admit, I was a bit surprised at the news, since Bill tended to be rather restrained when it came to drinking, and I was also a touch embarrassed for him. He was working for Niall after all. I also realized I had no clue how I was going to get home. Bill's car was a stick shift, and I didn't know how to drive it. Just then, Felicia chimed in that Eric would be more than happy to drive me home. He and I looked at each other, and I thought you could cut the awkward tension that arose with a knife. Niall took that moment to ask Eric to get some wine from the cellar, and then Felicia twisted the blade, and suggested that Eric take me and show me the wine cellar!

While a part of me was completely embarrassed, I can't deny that another part of me, particularly my girlie parts, were dancing a jig at the thought of being alone with Eric. I tried to chastise myself, and remind myself that I'd come with Bill, but when I caught Eric's eyes, my stomach clenched with desire, and the little, tiny part of my brain that was shouting "Bill!" was slowly being stomped to dust. He put out his hand and asked me if I wanted a tour, and my hand easily slipped into his. I felt that tingle of electricity pulse between us, and my eyes flew to his. I realized that he felt it too, and we stood there, momentarily stupefied by the implications, until he tore his gaze away and guided me to the staircase that led down to the cellar. I felt like a fool as I stumbled, and once again had to be held upright by him. I felt my blush race up my face and pulled away quickly. I tried to remind myself that I came to Niall's with Bill. God, I was such a slut for even thinking about how good it felt to be held by him.

When we got to the bottom of the stairs, I gasped. I'd never seen such a beautiful space. I can't claim to be a wine connoisseur, but having worked in a bar, I could appreciate a good wine, and I knew what they cost. The vastness of Niall's collection was astounding. In addition, the room itself was just . . . comfortable. It was warm and inviting, despite the fact that it was several degrees cooler than the rest of the house. There was just something so relaxing and beautiful about it. I realized that I could happily spend a great deal of time down there. Eric laughed at my reaction, but told me his had been similar the first time he saw it. Hearing that, I felt a bit more at ease, and less like a country bumpkin. Eric took me by the hand and led me deeper into the cellar. I knew I shouldn't have the dirty thoughts I had racing through my mind, but just having him that close sent my hormones raging. The little angel on one shoulder was trying to remind me that Bill was upstairs, while the little devil on the other shoulder was gleefully dancing at the fact that we were alone together.

Then the lights went out, and I screamed like a little girl and jumped on him. In retrospect, that's really unbelievably embarrassing, but the truth is, I'm afraid of the dark. Don't get me wrong. It's not like I sleep with the lights on or anything, but at home when you turn off your light, there is always something glowing, your digital clock, the cable box, the light from the streetlamp outside that is sneaking in at the edges of your curtains. However, down there in the wine cellar, when the lights went out, it was pitch black, and nothing terrifies me more. It takes me back to a time in my life that I prefer not to think about.

I heard Eric laugh a little, and I was glad that the dark at least hid my blush. I apologized and told him I didn't like the dark. "It's okay," he replied, "I've got you." Those three words sent a tingle through me, and I had to pull away before I did something I would regret. I was supposed to be putting this man behind me, and yet fate kept dangling him in my face like a bottle of vodka in front of an alcoholic. I stumbled in the dark and my haste to disentangle myself from him. I heard him laugh again, and then he said he'd be right back and that he was getting a candle. I was terrified of being left alone, but I didn't want to tell him that, so I told him it was okay. He must have heard something in my voice because he said, "I swear I'll be right back, Sookie." I can't believe how comforting those few words were. I wrapped my arms around myself and waited.

It seemed like forever, and I tried not to let my mind take me back in time as I stood there in the pitch black. In reality, it was probably only a minute or two before Eric returned with a lit candle, and set it in a sconce on the wall. I swear I felt like he was my hero at that moment, and I smiled at him. I also realized that he looked like an angel. The candle light made his hair glow in an otherworldly way, and the dancing flickers of light made the planes of his face seem softer and less guarded. He was gorgeous, but then he looked at me with such hunger in his eyes and said, "You are so unbelievably beautiful." All thoughts of Bill flew out of my mind. There was only Eric, and that moment, and nothing else. I threw myself at him, wrapped my arms around his neck, and pulled him in for a kiss. He hesitated for a second, but then I felt his arms around me and he was meeting me kiss for kiss, and it was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. I felt sexy and beautiful, powerful and in control, and I pushed him back against the wall and attacked his chest—his beautiful, sculpted, perfect chest. My mouth ran over it, sucking his nipples, tasting his flesh, and reveling in the salty sweet taste of him. To hell with pumpkin pie; this was dessert, and I wanted more. My hands found his belt, and I quickly opened it and unbuttoned his pants. I needed to touch him, to feel his hard length in the palm of my hand, and I plunged into his pants, grasping him and stroking him through his boxers. Before I could do anything else, however, he grabbed me around the waist with one arm and carried me back to the table by the stairs. In one swipe he knocked everything off and set me down on it. I could barely see his face in the dim glow the now far away candle provided, but I could hear his heavy breathing, and I knew the effect this was having on him.

He walked over to the bar and lit a few more candles, the warm glow offsetting the cooler temperature of the wine cellar, and feeding the heat between us. Then he kissed me again, before pushing me down on the table. I felt his hands slide up my legs, lifting my dress, and then I heard him growl lightly as he saw what I was wearing underneath. In a flash he tore off my thong, and the ferocity of that act, the animalistic nature of it, set me to throbbing. I felt myself grow wetter and swell with desire. Then he drove two fingers into me and I cried out with pleasure. He responded by grinding his erection against me, and all rational thought exited the building. I wanted him like nothing else. I wanted him even more than before, and with more need. I wanted to taste him, to feel him, to memorize every ridge and vein of him. I was still feeling powerful and sexy, and I wanted to make him feel pleasure; I wanted to bring him to the edge and then take him over it. I called him to me, and within seconds, I had his incredible hardness in my hand and then in my mouth. I let my head fall back over the edge of the table, which made it that much easier to take his entire length in. Then he leaned over me, and hell if he wasn't tall enough to run his tongue right over my clit. I moaned around his cock, and I could feel him pulse and grow thicker in my mouth. I sucked harder, loving the feel of him sliding across my tongue and down my throat. When his mouth descended over my lower lips, and I felt his fingers slide back into me, I nearly cried from joy. This was something I had never done before, and it was incredible. In fact, Bill always treated going down on me like he was doing me a favor. Eric seemed to enjoy it, to enjoy the taste of me and feel of me in his mouth as much as I did him.

I think our mutual pleasure was feeding each other, and spiraling ever higher. Then he found my sweet spot with his fingers, and he bit my clit, sending me screaming over the edge into the strongest orgasm of my life. I heard him cry out, as he furiously pumped his hips against me, fucking my mouth and releasing down my throat. He stood over me for a moment, catching his breath, and I can't say I didn't do the same, as my legs were twitching and felt like Jell-O. I finally sat up, and shakily tried to put myself to rights, and I was suddenly embarrassed. This wasn't his office or a public location, and one of us couldn't just walk away this time. This time, we were going to have to be in each other's presence afterwards, and all my earlier empowerment fled me. I felt awkward and unsure. As if reading my thoughts, his finger was under my chin, forcing my head up and then he thanked me, and kissed me. The kiss was almost desperate, like he was trying to keep the real world from intruding, but then the lights suddenly came back on, and we heard Felicia calling down to make sure we were alright. It broke the tension, and we began to laugh, and he ran to actually get the wine we'd been sent for in the first place.

When we returned upstairs, the mood continued to be jovial, and we were all laughing and enjoying dessert, and the company. All too soon, however, it was time to go home, and although Felicia had suggested that Eric drive me home, we realized that he was going to have to drive both Bill and me, and Felicia would have to follow us. I made my goodbyes to Niall, Claudine and Felipe, promising Claudine that I would call her soon, and Eric and I loaded Bill into the backseat of his car. Eric folded himself into the driver's seat, and we started driving. The mood turned somber. It was like we'd walked out of a fairy land, and back into the real world, and that reality came crashing down on me. Bill, the man I came with to the dinner was in the backseat, and I was being driven home by my English professor, with whom I was having some sort of an affair. Could it be any more sordid? I stared out the window, unable to talk except to give Eric directions to my apartment. When we got there, he helped me lug Bill upstairs, and I had him put him on the couch. There was no way I was going to have him in my bed after what I'd just done. In fact, I honestly had to rethink whether I would ever want him there again. I know I had decided to tell him I would get back together with him, but I realized that night that I would be settling. What I felt with Eric, right or wrong, I'd never felt with Bill and I realized that I deserved to feel that. I thought I'd felt something like that the day he kissed me in the trees, but I hadn't felt it since. Whatever happened with Eric— _if_ anything else ever happened—I didn't think I could stay with Bill.

Eric grabbed the doorknob to leave; he hadn't said a word since we left Niall's house. Then I saw him straighten his shoulders and he turned to me, and said my name. The look in his eyes said it all; he was closing himself off. He was ending this, this thing between us, before it could even really begin. I knew it had to be that way; I was his student, after all. I couldn't even begin to imagine what this would do to his career, never mind his relationship with Niall. I thought I understood every reason for what he was about to do; it didn't matter, and it still hurt like hell, but I wasn't going to let him see that. I placed my finger over his lips, stopping him from saying anything else. "Let's just blame it on the storm," I said, because what else could I say? He toyed with my hair for a moment and then wished me a happy Thanksgiving, and he was gone.

So I wiped my single tear from my face, and squared my shoulders. I was going to take control of my life once more. I looked down at Bill's sleeping form as I headed to my room, and sighed, knowing that the next day would not be pretty. I just didn't realize how right I was. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and stripped out of my clothes. I shrugged myself into a long t-shirt and crawled into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin, and quickly fell into the sleep of the exhausted. You know what the problem with that sleep is, though? It's troubled. I spent the night tossing and turning, and dreaming of Eric. Just like my fevered dreams when I was sick and in the hospital, I kept dreaming that I was chasing after him, and he was running away. I kept calling out, begging him to stop, just stop running, but he would always disappear around a corner, and when I'd get there the street would be empty. I woke with a start, and immediately something felt off. I sat up, and Bill was sitting on the edge of the bed, his face hard and inscrutable.

"Bill?" I asked hesitantly.

"Did you enjoy humiliating me last night?" he asked, his voice so cold I felt the chill across my skin.

"Bill, what are you talking about?" I asked.

He turned suddenly, and he was over me. His right hand slammed into the headboard next to my head, while his left hand grabbed my chin. "I'm talking about you and Professor Northman. Or should I call him Eric?" And he said Eric in a girlish voice, as if he were imitating me.

"What. The. Fuck. Are you talking about?" I asked again, as I tried to pull my face out of his grasp, but he just dug his fingers in tighter.

"I'm talking about the way you two fucked each other with your eyes in front of everyone, even when I was standing right next to you. I'm talking about the way you paid attention to him all night, and the way I heard you calling out his name now while you slept," he spat at me. "How long has it been going on?" he demanded.

I began to panic. Not only was I worried that Eric and I would be exposed, but Bill's fingers were starting to hurt me, and he was, quite frankly, scaring the shit out of me. He brought his right hand back down and suddenly yanked the front of my nightshirt down, tearing it slightly and grasping at my breast. "Did you let him touch you like this?" he continued.

"Bill!" I cried out, but he ignored my protest. He reached down and tried to grasp between my legs. "Were you wet for him last night, Sookie? Were you wet for him like you always were for me?"

"Stop, Bill, please stop!"

His thumb moved off my chin and tried to push its way into my mouth. "Or did you wrap these pretty lips around him? Hmm, Sookie? Has he gotten to enjoy that particular talent of yours, Sookie?"

I was scrambling to get out from under him now, but I was tangled in the sheets and he was still holding on to my face. I was crying, and telling him he was wrong, and begging him to stop. And I was a fucking liar, because it was all true, but I couldn't tell him that. I couldn't admit to it because then it would be ruined. I would be ruined. Eric would be ruined. So I lied, and I cried, and it didn't matter what I said, because he just kept going on and on.

"You are mine, Sookie. Did you forget that? Did you think you could just turn me away and I wouldn't come back for you?" Then he bit me on my neck, hard, marking me, marking his territory like a dog pissing on a tree, and I screamed. Suddenly he was off me, and I realized that Tray had him in a choke hold and was dragging him from the room. I stumbled after them. Tray was yelling at Bill, asking him what the hell was wrong with him, and when Bill continued to struggle with him, Tray punched him in kidney, bringing Bill to his knees.

"What the fuck, man?" he asked Bill.

Bill just laughed at him, and then he turned to me and said, "You are mine, Sookie, and I'm not ever letting you go."

Tray had enough, and punched him in the jaw. I saw Bill's eyes roll up in his head just before he slumped to the ground. I slid down the wall, and sat there hugging my knees to my chest, trying to figure out how everything went so wrong, so fast. I heard Tray's voice, "Sookie! Sookie!" I looked up at him, and his face was full of concern. He was a good man. Amelia was lucky.

"What?" I asked him.

"I asked if you're okay, honey?"

Was I okay? No, I wasn't, but there was nothing he could do about it, so I nodded yes, and asked him to just get Bill the hell out of there. He tried to get me to call the police, but I knew they'd investigate everything; they'd question Eric, they would probably even question Niall to confirm where we'd been. I felt like I was going to throw up.

"No Tray," I said. "No police. I'm fine, just mostly scared. Just please, please get him out of here."

He did as I asked, and while he was gone, I got into the shower, turning the temperature up as high as possible, and I stood there under the scalding water, trying to wash it all away. I wasn't sure when I started crying, since the tears just mixed with the water, but after a bit, I realized that the water was getting cooler, so I quickly shampooed and washed up, then got out. I looked at my neck in the mirror, and winced at the sight of it. Two clear sets of teeth marks, red and angry, decorated me. I unwound my towel from my hair, and when my hair was down I saw that it covered the marks. Plus, now that it was winter, I could wear turtlenecks and other high necked items to hide them. In fact, I pulled up the cowl of my robe a little higher, and the marks disappeared beneath it.

When I came out of the bathroom, Tray was sitting on the couch, his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his fists. His head shot up at my approach. "Sooks," he began, "you really should call the police." I held up my hand.

"I can handle it, Tray," and he gave me a look, but then said, "I'm not going to push you on this, Sookie. I'm sure you have your reasons, but I don't like it."

I smiled at him, "Thank you Tray. Now, let me ask a question: what are you doing here? Not that I'm not grateful, but . . ." But Amelia was out of town with her dad. It turned out that Tray had left a jacket at our apartment, and used the key Amelia had given him a while before to retrieve it. It was the first time he'd ever used the key, and I'd never been more grateful that Amelia had Tray in her life. I decided to go back to bed, thanking him again. I didn't think I'd fall asleep, but I did. The lack of decent sleep during the night, coupled with the adrenaline crash I experienced after Bill's attack, wiped me out. When I woke up again, it was nearly four in the afternoon.

I came back out of my room and found Tray still sitting on the couch, watching football. I quirked an eyebrow at him, and he grinned ruefully. "Amelia's orders. I love ya Sook, but if she tells me to stay put, I'm staying put." I smiled at him. I figured he would tell Amelia, and when I looked at my cell phone, I saw several missed calls from her. He saw me scrolling through them, and I said, "I guess I should call her, huh?"

"If you want either of us to get any sleep tonight, then yes," he replied. We both laughed. At least I could still laugh.

Amelia came home the next day, cutting her weekend with her father short. I tried to convince her not to when we spoke on the phone the night before, but she was adamant. Tray stayed the night, and as much as I liked to think of myself as a strong, independent woman, I had to admit that I felt better knowing he was in the other room. I heard her talking to Tray before I walked out of my room the next morning. Amelia turned to look at me when I walked in, and she hissed in anger when she saw my face and neck. By the end of the day before, finger sized marks had appeared on my jaw where Bill had gripped it, and the bite mark had become an angry, purple-red color.

"I'm going to kill him," she ground out, as she turned my head to look at my neck closely. "Now tell me exactly what happened."

I looked over to where Tray sat on the couch. I knew Amelia would probably tell him everything later, but I just couldn't talk about Eric with him in the room. He threw a quick look at Amelia, then said something about making a phone call, and headed into Amelia's room. I smiled at his retreating back, and then looked at Amelia, "He's a good guy. You're really lucky."

"I know, and don't change the subject," she answered. So I told her, everything. Well, I may have left out a few of the more intimate details, and she was furious at me for holding out about Halloween, although she admitted she figured out something had happened. She too tried to convince me to go to the police, but she understood my hesitation, particularly after I assured her that it had nothing to do with a fear of Bill, or that I thought what he did was okay. It really was just because of what would be uncovered if I did report him. What I didn't know was what I was going to do about seeing Bill in class, but Amelia told me not to worry about it, that Tray made sure Bill wouldn't be coming to class any time soon. I quirked an eyebrow at her, and all she said was that Tray had called a few of his biker buddies—guys that had very strong feelings about men who hurt women—and that they were "taking care of" Bill. I didn't really want to know what that meant, but I can't say I wasn't relieved that I wouldn't be seeing him that week.

She asked me about Bill, about why I wanted to get back together with him, and what I ever saw in him. I reminded her that when Bill and I got together, I was naïve, a virgin, and I had very little experience with men. I'd never really dated, and Jason was my example of what a young man should be like, much to my current dismay. I also told her that until Bill cheated on me, he really had never done anything bad to me, or anything even approaching what had taken place the day before. In fact, being with Bill had been perfectly "normal." In retrospect, after experiencing the searing passion I'd felt with Eric, I realized that "normal" really meant uninspired, and that I had settled.

Bill had spent the better part of the months after we broke up apologizing and sweet talking me. I had pretty much put him off, but it wasn't until that day in Eric's office, when I felt so turned on, confused, and rejected, that I found myself drawn back to Bill. I realize now that his reaction to my tears wasn't a measure of his concern for my well being, but his perception that Eric had touched what he considered to be his property. Then when he kissed me, and put all that anger and desire into it, I read it as desire for me, instead of desire to control. After the tumultuous events with Eric, Bill seemed safe. He was a known factor, and he reminded me of home.

When I looked back on my relationship with Bill with open eyes, I realized that everything he'd done was selfish and about him. I came to believe that he never had visited me in the hospital. I'd just assumed he did. But if he really loved me, wouldn't he have put aside his dislike for Amelia and been at my bedside? When I was back at home, instead of encouraging me to get better, he was pressuring me for head. I also can't help but wonder if he didn't know Eric would be at Niall's, and whether he brought me there just to rub it in Eric's face.

However, Bill's behavior the next morning stunned me. No matter what else I realized about him, I'd never even gotten a glimmer that he had that potential for violence against me, or women in general. It was terrifying to think that he was capable of such behavior, and that I never knew it. It made me realize how little we really know the people we are involved with most intimately.

Amelia brought me out of my musings by asking me what I was going to do about Eric. I sighed, but told her that I had to get over it. I told her about the look I'd seen in his eyes. "I don't know what is going on in his head, but whatever it is, he isn't going to be bringing me flowers and sweeping me off my feet. I get it, he wants me for whatever reason, but it doesn't go deeper than that. There's just no point in tormenting myself about it, not to mention that after this shit with Bill, it would really better to just stay away from Eric."

"Sook, you're wrong. That man is head over heels for you." I looked at Amelia like she'd grown a second head. "Don't look at me like that, Sookie! I saw his face when I told him you were in the hospital, and . . ." I cut her off.

"What do you mean 'you saw his face'?"

"I tried to tell you before, but you wouldn't listen. I didn't talk to Professor Northman on the phone when you were sick I went to see him."

"Amelia! Why would you do that?"

"Because I wanted to get a look at him and size him up, and Sookie, the look on his face when I told him how sick you were was anything but uncaring. He looked devastated, Sookie, but then it was like he flipped this switch, and put on a mask or something. Look, I don't know what you should do. I think there is something there between you guys, but I'm not gonna lie and tell you that it isn't complicated. I think he's carrying some serious war wounds. There's damage there, Sook, and I can't tell you what to do about him."

I knew the look Amelia was talking about. I'd seen him pull that calm exterior on like it was a second skin. I'd seen it in class, and I saw it as he left me on Thanksgiving. But head over heels? I didn't think so. I shook my head slowly, and said, "No Amelia, I'm not going there anymore. I don't think I can take it." She gave me a hug and didn't say anything else.

Sunday passed by quietly, and Amelia and Tray stayed in the whole time. I was grateful because I knew it was for me. By Sunday night I'd given up the fantasy that the bruises on my jaw would disappear before class on Monday, and resigned myself to actually having to use make up. I got up a little early that day, dressed in a high necked sweater and applied make up to my bruises. It didn't cover them completely, but you did have to look and actually pay attention to see them. I kept my hair down to help hide my face more. I had actually arrived a bit early, but decided to hide in the bathroom for a little while, unwilling to be ignored by Eric when he saw me sitting there. I walked in a minute or two before the start of class, and I was relieved to see that Bill was not there. Eric's eyes darted to my face for a moment as I slid into my seat, and I thought I saw them narrow slightly. Then he began speaking. The hour actually passed rather quickly, all things considered. I kept my head down, my face obscured by my hair. It was easier that way. Class ended, and he dismissed us, reminding us that our papers were due the following week. Then he informed us that he was leaving for England as soon as the term ended, so he would not be available in his office to discuss final grades, but that he would be checking his email regularly. I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. He was trying to get away from me.

I quickly threw my books in my bag, and began to hurry from the room. Then he spoke. "Ms. Stackhouse. A moment please." I froze in my spot and wondered if I could pretend I just hadn't heard him, but by the time I finished processing my options, I realized it was glaringly obvious that I had heard him. I slowly turned towards him, but refused to look in his face, focusing instead on the clock behind his shoulder. I heard him whisper, "Fuck," and finally looked at him. He raised his hand to trace the bruises on my face. I tried to turn away, but he put a restraining hand on my neck, and I winced as he accidentally brushed against the bite. Before I could stop him, he hooked a finger along my collar and pulled it down slightly, exposing the now purple bite mark. I heard him growl and then say, "Son of a bitch!" I jerked away from him. "It looks worse than it is," I said. "Sookie, did you report him?" I looked at him for a moment, wanting nothing more than to let him wrap his arms around me, but I took a page out of his book and assumed a disaffected air. "It's been dealt with," I said, and then I added, "Anyway, it's none of your concern. The storm is over, remember? Good luck at Cambridge." And I walked out.

Two days later, I got a call from my faculty advisor. I had applied for a semester abroad the year before, but someone else had gotten the slot. Mrs. DuRhone called to tell me that the student had to back out at the last minute, and if I still wanted to go, I could. It was an opportunity to spend the spring semester in Rome. The decision was a no brainer, and I accepted right away. I realized I had a lot to do in the next month, but I was looking forward to it. I needed a change of scenery. I needed to get away from Bill, and from the memories of Eric, and I'd finally get to go to Italy. Gran would have been so happy for me. I also turned in my final paper for Eric's class. I'd written it while I was recuperating from my surgery. I didn't return to class, however. What was the point?


	19. Chapter 19

I stepped out of the hotel, but waved the doorman away when he asked if he could hail me a cab. It was a rare, sunny, June day in London, and I wanted to enjoy the fresh air. Also, while I always took pleasure in the finer things in life, including a stay at a five star hotel, I really enjoyed riding the Underground when I was in London. I just loved everything about it: its precision, its history, the crash of bodies, the opportunity to people watch, watching the street musicians playing for change in the tunnels, but most of all, I loved the anonymity of it. Even though the university and my new name afforded me some quiet, when I would leave campus for the city, there was always the risk of someone recognizing Eric Norrman, scion of the late, illustrious Alexander Norrman, and heir to Norrman Industries. In London, no one recognized me, and if they did, they didn't care. The British, despite their obsession with the royal family, tend to be much more "hands off" when it comes to other wealthy and famous persons. Despite their fame, many celebrities do not live behind gates, simply because the general population tends to leave them alone. Not that I could ever claim that sort of fame, but just knowing that no one in London gave two shits about who I was, and that I could ride the Tube without anyone possibly recognizing me, was a welcome relief.

So, I turned down Piccadilly, and walked the short distance to the Green Park tube station. The spring semester at Cambridge had ended two days earlier, and I was enjoying five days of vacation before heading home. It had been a long time since I'd been to London, a city I dearly loved, and I knew it would be a long time before I could return. I rode the escalator down, paid my fare, and made my way to the Jubilee line platforms. I stood and waited for the train; the rounded walls about me were plastered with advertisements, as well was the ubiquitous red and white circle identifying an Underground station. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered slightly, and a young man with a full morning's shopping in his hands brushed by me on his way out. It was all so normal, so pedestrian, so ordinary, and yet its very ordinariness, history, and intransience filled me with a sense of peace. I leaned against the orange bricks, with their leaf design, and waited for the train that would take me to Westminster.

The semester at Cambridge, academically, had gone better than I could have hoped for, and I was well received by my fellows there. My students were also wonderful. They were bright and engaged, eager to learn the material in a way that I'd found lacking in their counterparts back home, or at least most of their counterparts. There was one that was still peerless—Sookie. I had hoped that time and distance would deaden my reaction to her, but all I had to do was remember her name, and I would feel myself begin to stir. Occasionally, I would catch a whiff, a trace of a familiar scent, and before I knew it, I would be off hunting it down. In fact, during one, short holiday in Venice, I tried to follow it, certain that the blond head I'd seen was hers, until I came to my senses and remembered that she was back in the States.

Even in my casual dalliances, she was never far from my thoughts, and often the sole means of release. After two months of trying to fuck her out of my system, I gave up entirely, spending the rest of my time holed up like a monk. Not that it made things any better, but at least I didn't feel as guilty about the women I was using. In the past I'd never thought I was using the women I was with, and I still don't think I was, at the time. However, once Sookie entered my life, it was like she took up residence inside my head, and my dick. Every woman I engaged with suffered by comparison, and every one of them was merely a placeholder, a physical manifestation of my actual fantasy woman. It wasn't fair of me, and I couldn't even pretend that my former rules about treating them well mattered. I was the one who left feeling cold and unsatisfied. So, after Venice, I stopped bothering with other women, and hoped that my obsession with Sookie would just run out of steam, particularly given the distance between us.

Of course, my subconscious and my body had other ideas. Not a single night went by that I didn't dream of her, and if I didn't wake up sticky, I woke up so hard that I had no choice but to take matters into my own hand. Sometimes, I was so desperate I couldn't even wait to get to the shower. At first, I was frustrated by my own mind's betrayal, and I resented her for my inability to get her out of my head. After a while, however, I began to look forward to the dreams. Sometimes they were merely replays of what had already transpired between us. I don't think I will ever get tired of the sight of her spread before me on Halloween or the memory of her taste on my tongue. In fact, whenever I wrapped my hand around my throbbing erection in the shower, if I wanted it to be short and sweet, I imagined Halloween and conjured those memories. Without fail, I would come hard, with her name on my lips, as I leaned my head against the wet tiles, panting and waiting for my breath to return to normal.

As for my dreams, my favorite one always began at the Halloween party, but instead of letting her walk away, I take her to my house. We're kissing and grabbing at each other before we even get to my door, and then as I open it, we fall inside, laughing lightly. I kiss her, walking her backwards until she hits the arm of the couch. I kiss a trail down her neck, making her whimper, and then I walk away, a wicked gleam in my eye, as I light a fire in the fireplace. I shrug out of the costume's cloak, and pull off a scarf that was never part of my costume, but always part of my dream, and crook my finger, beckoning her to me. She walks toward me, her hips swaying seductively, and I feel my pants tighten. Just in front of the fireplace I kiss her once more, and then, after removing her mask, I tie the scarf around her eyes, while whispering in her ear and telling her she is beautiful. I slide the single strap of her dress down her arm, and watch as it falls in a puddle of fabric at her feet. She stands before me bare, save for the scarf around her eyes and those stunning lace up shoes, the scrap of fabric that passed for panties earlier in the night still in my pocket. The firelight dances across her skin, throwing shadows across the hills and planes of her body, making every inch of skin seem alive. I watch the rise and fall of her breasts as her breathing becomes more erratic, as she is alternately excited and unnerved by being so exposed. I circle around her, close enough for her to feel my presence, but not yet touching, until finally I stand behind her, and with one arm around her chest, and the other on her hip, pull her to me, her back flush with my chest, and her ass flush with my arousal. Her breath hitches, but then I whisper in her ear, "Fucking beautiful," and a low moan comes from her. I nudge her forward, toward the over-sized chair by the fireplace, and bend her over the large armrest, until her forehead touches the cushion. Then I stretch her arms above her head, so they rest in front her, and whisper, "Don't move." In the flickering firelight, I allow my eyes to roam the sight before me: her ass pushed up by the armrest, and her back gently curving, showing me the raised column of her spine. I follow the line down her back, to the crack of her ass, and then along her beautiful legs, watching as they end in a _Shibari_ -like criss-cross of ribbon, and satin, and high heels, which still barely afford her the height she needs for such a perch, and leave her standing on her toes.

I allow my fingers to ghost down her body, one along her back, and the other along the side, grazing the gentle curve of her breast, and enjoy the small moans and whimpers I elicit from her, reveling in her responsiveness to my touch. Then I lean over her and trace the trail of my fingers with my tongue, relishing the taste of her skin, stopping only at the top of her beautifully rounded ass. My hands grasp her hips, as I lay my cheek against one of hers, taking pleasure in the feel of her smooth skin. Then I pepper her with kisses before running my tongue from her tailbone to just south of the crack of her ass, enjoying her instinctive, albeit futile, attempt to pull away from such an intrusion. I continue kissing and nipping the soft flesh, until I'm on my knees, then I spread her legs further, and enjoy the view of her wet sex, the skin glistening with arousal. With one hand still on her soft cheek, I run a finger along her swollen folds, causing her to buck in response, before bringing my finger to my mouth and licking her juices from it. Her small moans and whimpers become louder and more insistent, as I insert my thumb into her warmth, plunging it in and out, as I begin to rub her clit with my fingers. Her fluids coat my hand, and I replace my thumb with my tongue, nuzzling into her and delighting in the feel of her against my face. I slide my thumb up, and slowly circle her smaller opening, coating it with her juices, before latching my lips unto her clit and sliding my thumb into her ass. On my knees behind her, my face pressed into her folds, and her wetness dripping down my chin, I am at worship. Her orgasm, when it comes, is accompanied by a keening wail, the thrusting of her ass against my hand, the taste of her come on my lips, and my deep groans as my cock erupts. I wake up covered in my come, shuddering with the force of my release, and as content as if it had been real.

Occasionally, however, the dreams take place in Niall's wine cellar on Thanksgiving, reliving our mutual pleasure, only instead of waking up after my release, my dream self follows Sookie home. In my dream, a nightmare really, I watch as Bill attacks her, grabbing her face and forcing her to take him in her mouth. I silently scream, unable to stop what I see happening to her. Then I watch, as he throws her to the ground and climbs on her. In my dream I see his teeth, razor sharp and long, just before he sinks them into her neck, and she screams. That is when I wake up.

It had been seven months since I'd seen her, seven months since I'd seen the marks he left on her. When I watched her walk into my classroom that day, I was surprised to see her head down and her shoulders slumped. I knew I'd been an unmitigated asshole on Thanksgiving when I left her, but this was the first time she had ever responded in such a way. When I walked away from her to go with Worthington, she returned with a fiery vengeance, and then sat in my class like nothing had happened. When I ravaged her on Halloween, she responded with cunning and guile. At every turn she had met me tit-for-tat, but that day she seemed . . . embarrassed. Then I caught her eyes, and I was able to look at her face, and even though she turned away quickly, and hid behind her hair, I saw marks on her face. Although I proceeded with my lecture, and my planned spiel about my departure for Cambridge, I couldn't take my mind off the fact that I was sure I'd seen bruises on her jaw line. I spent half the time trying to figure out if something we had done could have caused them. I couldn't take it, and after class I asked her to stay. She stood there, her back to me, and I could practically hear her trying to decide if she should leave or stay, but she finally turned around. Only she wouldn't even look at me, as her eyes focused somewhere behind me. I took a good look at her, and although I realized she had applied makeup, I could make out the tell-tale signs of finger-shaped bruises along her jaw. I knew I had not caused them, but instantly knew who did. A whispered, "Fuck," escaped my mouth as I realized what I was seeing, and I reached out my hand to trace the marks with my fingers, but she pulled away. I grabbed her by the neck, trying to keep her from bolting, and she winced in pain. I felt sick to my stomach, but I pulled the collar of her high-necked sweater down, and saw the clear evidence of his violence. A livid mark, plainly showing teeth, spread across her neck. I felt a growl emanate from deep within my chest. It was a visceral reaction, and my anger was barely in check as I said, "Son of a bitch!" She tried to pull away, and told me it looked worse than it was, but I couldn't stand it. I couldn't abide hearing her protect him like that. "Did you report him?" I asked, praying to every god I knew that she had, and wanting nothing more than to take her in my arms. She remained aloof, cold, and in no uncertain terms told me she didn't need my worry or comfort as she spat out, "It's been taken care of. Anyway, it's none of your concern. The storm is over, remember? Good luck at Cambridge." And then she walked out.

I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. I knew I deserved her disappointment and her anger, but I never expected it to hurt me so much. I made my way over to one of the seats in the room, and sat down heavily. It was my fault she'd been hurt. If I wasn't so incapable of letting someone in, she would never have been with Compton in the first place that night, and certainly would never have been left alone with him. I'd always been worried about her effect on _me_ , and what it might mean to _me_ , to be involved with her, but other than my small epiphany at the hospital, I had not taken the time to really think of the effect on her. I'd never hated myself more than I did at that moment, and I hated myself plenty already. I debated talking to her again after the next lecture, to try to get a handle on what she was going through, but I didn't see her again; she never returned to class, and although final papers were only identified via the student's ID number, I knew which one was hers. It was the only "A" I gave that semester, and not because of how I felt. It was simply the best essay I'd ever had the pleasure of grading. I even had Worthington read it to make sure I wasn't being biased, and he begged me to tell him who the student was once final grades were made known.

Compton returned to class the week after I spoke with Sookie, using crutches, as his leg was in a cast, and sporting some fantastic bruises on his face. I overheard him telling someone that he was in a motorcycle accident, but Sookie's words, "It's been taken care of," echoed in my head. I had no idea who in Sookie's life could, or would, do something like that, but I was insanely grateful to them. I just wished I could have been the one to do it, although I can honestly say I might not have stopped at a broken leg and some bruises. I'm pretty sure that if I had been there, Compton would have still been in the hospital or the morgue, and I would have been in prison. Although I abhor violence against women and would do what I could to help someone being abused, I know that I would never have had such a primal reaction if it had been anyone else. Oh, I would have been angry, and I would have encouraged the young woman to report the perpetrator to the proper authorities, but I would never have had the desire to kill someone like I did William Compton.

Compton and I spent a good deal of the class that day glaring at each other, and from the looks he gave me, I figured he knew what transpired between Sookie and me at Thanksgiving. At the end of class, he sat in his seat, waving off his friend's offer of assistance. Obviously he was waiting to get me alone, so I obliged him. When the last student cleared the room, I looked at him expectantly. I wasn't going to make the first move. He slung his bag across his chest, and walked over to me, leaning heavily on his crutches. "Sookie is mine," he stated, as if he was talking about a car, or some other piece of property. I felt my hands curl themselves into fists. "You shouldn't shit where you eat, professor," he continued, "it could be detrimental to your career." The asshole was threatening me! I leaned forward, bringing my face close to his, and spat back, "You relinquished any claim you might have had on her when you attacked her. Who do you think Niall will believe?" Bill's eyes widened, as he obviously didn't know I was aware of what he'd done to Sookie. Unfortunately, it was clear we were at an impasse; neither of us could rat the other out, without implicating ourselves. He drew himself up, threw me a glare, and left. Although I was livid at his behavior, I can't deny that a part of me was relieved about the fact that he wouldn't be able to say anything to Niall. I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. I was looking forward to Cambridge, and to leaving the entire sordid mess behind.

The last couple weeks of the term went quickly, as I prepared to leave for England. I was both nervous and excited. I only hoped that I wouldn't be called back prematurely to deal with my responsibilities at home. Felicia assured me she had everything under control, and I knew she was happy to do it for me. Still, for twelve years, those responsibilities had been mine, and I was unsure about how to "let go" of them.

I had already closed up my house for the trip, and was staying at our family's home in the city. I was packing a few final items the night before my flight, and Felicia was keeping me company. When I was done, I pulled her to me and leaned in for a kiss. She pulled away. I was honestly surprised. Felicia had never refused me before. Never. "C'mon, one for the road," I wheedled.

"No, Eric. You're not going to find what you're looking for between my legs."

I closed my eyes in frustration. I thought she'd let it go already. "Felicia, don't," I began, but she didn't let me finish.

"Eric, you can run away to England, or the South Pole, you won't escape her. She's in here," she said as she touched my chest. "You can't run away from that." I blew out the breath I hadn't even been aware I was holding.

"But I can try," I said with a wry smile.

We'd had this conversation several times since Thanksgiving. I had called her after I saw Sookie that day in class. I'm sure Sookie didn't want everyone knowing what Compton had done to her, but I was so angry I had to vent to someone. I knew Felicia would be discreet and I needed my best friend. She was furious when she heard what he'd done to Sookie, and she thought I should tell someone, but I reminded her that it was up to Sookie to decide if she wanted to report him. So instead, Felicia started talking about Thanksgiving, and teasing me about the amount of time Sookie and I were in the wine cellar. Then she said, "Obviously, I could never, ever condone what Bill did, but I can understand why he'd be mad, Eric. You guys are so clearly besotted with each other that it's written on your faces. Even Niall noticed."

When she mentioned Niall, I blanched and gawked at her like she'd sprouted a second head. "Shit!" I exclaimed, immediately panicking. "Niall? What did he say?"

"He said he thought we needed wine, and that you two should be the ones to get it." She said smiling. "Relax, Eric. You know what a romantic he is."

Finding out that it had been Niall who sent Sookie and me to the wine cellar shocked me, regardless of his romantic tendencies. _The sly old fox_.

I tried to tell Felicia that she was wrong. I told her that it was a passing fancy, an infatuation. I also speculated that I was just turned on by the idea of the forbidden fruit. But I've never been able to fool Felicia. She was right. Sookie Stackhouse had burrowed her way into my frozen heart, and made it beat in a way I hadn't felt in twelve years, and that I never expected or wanted to feel again. And therein lay the crux of the matter. I didn't want it. I didn't want to love her. I didn't want to worry about her. I didn't want to open myself to her, or risk any part of myself. And I was vehement that I never would, or could again, yet that is what my heart was inexorably pulling me toward. Then there was the fact that even if I could bring myself to bare my soul like that, it wouldn't be fair to Sookie. I was damaged goods, and she deserved someone better.

I turned away from Felicia, but she grabbed my arm. "Go to her, Eric."

"I can't. It's ridiculously late and I have a flight in the morning."

"Eric," she said, and she cupped my face in her hands in a movement that was so reminiscent of her mother it nearly brought me to tears, "Fuck the flight, and fuck the time. I guarantee you she won't mind."

"Felicia, don't do this to me."

"I didn't _do_ this to you, Eric."

I pulled her hands away from my face. "I _can't_ , Felicia."

"Can't or won't?"

"Does it matter?"

"Eric, why? Hasn't it been long enough? Haven't you punished yourself enough?" She asked softly.

"I'm not punishing myself. I'm protecting myself. Protecting . . ."

"Bullshit, Eric. You're hiding."

"I'm hiding?" I shouted. I grabbed her by the arm and dragged her down the hall, throwing open the door at the end. I pointed into the room. "I live with it every day, Felicia. Tell me how the fuck I'm hiding!" I turned on my heel and stormed back down the hallway.

A few minutes later Felicia found me in the library, pouring a whiskey. It was always my favorite room, even as a child. It was two stories high, with floor to ceiling bookshelves, and rolling track ladders. A circular loft on the second floor was accessed by a spiral staircase. Everything in the room was made of dark, rich woods, and the leather wing chair was smooth and soft with wear. The fire in hearth crackled. I slammed back my drink before pouring another, and sat down in the chair, elbows on my knees, and my head in my free hand. I heard Felicia enter, and a moment later I felt her cool hand stroking my hair.

"Don't cry, _mon chou_." She whispered, as she continued to stroke my hair. She hadn't called me that in years, and without thinking I chuckled as I wiped my eyes and said, "Alright, _ma petite crotte_." Because, what else would a mortified eleven year old boy call a girl who just called him a cream puff, if not "my little turd."? Felicia kissed me on the top of my head as we laughed at the memory. The nicknames stuck for years, but it had been a while since we used them. She didn't bring up Sookie again that night, or the next morning when she dropped me off at the airport. Two days later, the dreams began.

So, at first I tried to exorcise my feelings for her in the arms of several women, but Felicia was right. Then I hoped it would just go away. Finally, I resigned myself to it. I would love her, but keep my distance. I had my dreams. I had a "safe" Sookie, one who I couldn't hurt and who could never hurt me. I got off the train at Westminster station, and made my way to the church.

I never failed to feel a sense of awe as I entered Westminster. It certainly isn't the oldest church in Europe, or even the most beautiful, but there is something in the history of the storied building that demands attention and respect. Every coronation has taken place there since William the Conqueror in 1066, and nearly every monarch of Britain since Henry II is buried there. Yet nearer and dearer to my heart, are the memorials and burials of some of the greatest British poets: Chaucer, Spenser, Blake, Byron, Shakespeare, Shelley, Tennyson, and Wordsworth, just to name a few. Poet's Corner was like my own personal altar: a place to worship those who could elicit intense emotions, or profound wisdom, with their words. There is even a memorial to one my favorite poets, Herrick. I made my way to the South Transept to pay homage to these great men and women of letters. As I reached the end of the cloisters, and was about to turn the corner, I smelled it again – her scent. My steps faltered momentarily, but I laughed at my foolishness, just as I had in Venice. I came around the corner still chuckling, but then I looked up and my breath left my body, and my heart landed somewhere in the pit of my stomach.

Standing there in a white sundress, her golden curls held back by a polka-dotted scarf, stood the object of my affection and obsession. Her eyes grew wide as she saw me, and her hand flew up to her mouth. I drank in the sight of her and thought that my dreams had not done her justice. I finally found my voice and said, "Sookie, you look," but before I could tell her how beautiful she looked, a tall young man, with curly dark hair and broad shoulders, snapped shut his phone, walked up to Sookie, put his arm around her and said with a heavy accent, "There you are, _ma chérie_ _ _!"__ And he kissed her cheek.

I felt sick to my stomach, and a possessive urge to snap his neck ran through me. I kept it all in check and instead finished my previous comment with, "You look well."

"So do you," she replied, and for a moment no one said anything. Then she seemed to remember herself and said, "Oh! I'm sorry. Alcide Herveaux, this is Professor Northman, Eric. I . . . he . . ." She seemed incapable of explaining the situation, so I stepped in.

"I teach at the university Sookie attends."

"Ah," said the young Frenchman. "A pleasure," he continued as he extended his hand to shake. Then he turned to Sookie, "I'm so sorry, but Pierre just called and the meeting was moved up. I have to go, but I know how much you wanted to see this." He said as he waved his hand around. He looked genuinely upset at having to leave her, and it galled me that he obviously had feelings for her, even if I couldn't blame him. "Ah, but this is, how do you say? Fortuitous, no? Perhaps Eric could accompany you? A familiar face, yes?"

I could see Sookie's hesitation, and I knew I shouldn't put her in that situation, but I was a selfish bastard, and realized that seven months' worth of dreams wasn't enough. I jumped in, "It would be my pleasure to accompany you Sookie."

 _"_ _Parfait_! Thank you, Eric." Then he turned to Sookie, "I will see you at the hotel in time for dinner, _ma belle_ _ _."__ He gave her another quick kiss on the cheek, and dashed out. Sookie looked stunned at the turn of events.

I tried to make light of the situation, so I made a ridiculously grandiose bow, offered her my arm and said, "M'lady?"

She burst into laughter, and my heart soared at the sound. She took my arm, and once again I felt that electric pulse between us. I look down at our intertwined arms, wondering if the sparks were visible, looking for an arc of blue. When I looked up, I found her staring at me, and I realized she still felt it, too.

"Come," I said, "let's go talk to the masters."

We wandered about Poet's Corner for a little while, occasionally stopping to discuss a particular work of poetry. I asked her what she was doing in England, and she told me that she had spent the semester in Rome. When she was on a weekend trip to Venice, she met Alcide. His family owned a vineyard in France, and he was visiting a client. They'd been seeing each other on and off while she went to school, and when the semester ended, he begged her to stay longer and travel with him to England. His family had some other business concerns in London. They had only arrived the night before.

Venice. She had been in Venice. It was too great a coincidence. I hadn't imagined her scent, or the sight of her hair, and I couldn't help but wonder how different that moment would have been if I'd pursued her longer. Would she have met Alcide? Would I be standing there, filled with jealousy and longing for something I could never have? I knew it was unfair to even think it. I had made the decision not to pursue her. I had made the decision to close my heart to her. I had no right to wish for her loneliness, but the thought of her making love to that young pup nearly brought me to my knees.

When we came across Herrick's memorial, I watched Sookie as she walked up to it. I watched the gentle sway of her hips, the way her dress swirled about her legs, caressing the silky soft skin that I longed to touch. I watched the way her back rippled slightly as she reached out to touch the plaque, and then my eyes traveled up the slope of her shoulder to her graceful neck. I felt my body begin to react, and closed my eyes, trying to will it away. When I opened them she was still standing there. I walked up behind her, but before I could say anything, she turned to me and said, "Please don't." Before I could ask what she meant, she continued, "Please don't quote him to me now. I don't think I could take it." And a solitary tear slid down her cheek. I reached up to wipe it away, but she turned and ran, heading out to the cloisters and garden. Her unchecked display of emotion made me realize that she felt something much deeper than a passing infatuation with her professor, and confirmed for me my thoughts those months before when I realized that I was too broken to love her properly, and would only end up hurting her.

I ran after her, finally catching up to her near one of the archways. "Sookie!" I called out, as I grabbed her arm and spun her about. She looked up at me with impossibly blue eyes, her cheeks flushed pink from running, and even though I knew it could only end badly, because I was that selfish bastard, I tangled my hand in her hair and leaned in and kissed her. Her lips were even softer than I remembered, and I suckled the lower one softly before caressing it with my tongue, begging entrance. She opened her mouth to me and I greedily tasted her, pushing her against the old stone that supported the gothic archways, hungry for more. Our mouths moved, wet and hot, and I felt something ignite in the pit of my stomach, a burning so intense I thought it would sear me from the inside out. At the same time, the alarm bells of my brain started screaming, _too close, too close_ , until finally, I pulled away panting, resting my forehead against hers. "I can't," we said simultaneously, and if it weren't for the desperate burning still in my middle, I might have laughed.

"He's a good man," she whispered.

"I'm not," I replied.

She reached out a hand to stroke my cheek. "Yes you are."

"No. When it comes to you, I'm selfish, high handed, and unfair. I'm sorry." And I stepped back.

"Eric, this dance takes two," but I put my finger against her lips, silencing her. I watched her eyes close as the electricity passed between us once more.

"Stop. Let me take you back to your hotel."

We didn't speak until we flagged down a cab. I looked at her and asked, "Where to?"

"The Ritz," she replied, and I barked out a short laugh.

As the taxi sped off, she asked what was so funny. "Fate is a cruel and fickle mistress, Sookie." She looked at me strangely, but didn't say another word, until the gentleman at the front desk greeted me and said, "Mr. Northman, you have messages."

"You have got to be kidding me," I heard her whisper, as I walked over to him and retrieved my messages.

"Shall we share an elevator?" I asked.

We walked to the elevator, and when we got in, we both reached for number seven. This wasn't happening. We exited the elevator and discovered that we were a mere two rooms away from each other. Fate was an even bigger bitch than I realized.

We stopped in front of her door and I said, "Enjoy the rest of your stay, Sookie, and good luck." I kissed her cheek, and felt her lean in to my touch. I closed my eyes so I wouldn't see her face, wouldn't be tempted to hurt her anymore, and paused only long enough to commit her scent to memory once more, before I walked away toward my room.

But Fate clearly had it out for me. I left my room that evening to head out to dinner, and as I began walking to the elevator, their door opened, and they stepped out. They were dressed for dinner, and Sookie was breathtaking. Her hair was piled on top of her head, with soft wisps framing her face. She was wearing a little black dress, with tiers of fabric, and fluttering sleeves, but it was form fitting and graced her curves beautifully. A generous "v" neckline in the front allowed a glimpse of her beautiful breasts, without exposing too much. Once again, she was wearing impossibly high heels that showed off her legs to perfection, and I could feel my pants tightening as I looked at her. She was a vision.

Alcide spotted me first, and said hello, laughing at the coincidence. I told Sookie she looked lovely, and her answering blush was intoxicating. Alcide enjoyed it as well, because he smiled and whispered in her ear. He tried to get me to join them for dinner, but I begged off, citing a dinner engagement with some colleagues. It was a lie. I was going to eat alone, but I knew there was no way I could sit through an entire dinner with them. I had dinner at a pub, and proceeded to drink myself comfortably numb. When I returned to the hotel, I found myself looking around, hoping to avoid them. I didn't want to make Sookie any more uncomfortable than I already had. I exited the elevator, and walked down the hall. As I passed their room, my feet slowed down involuntarily. I paused for a moment. And then I heard it, the unmistakable sounds of sex. I should have run to my room. I should have run anywhere, but instead I stood transfixed, listening as someone else made love to Sookie. "None pities him that is in the snare, who warned before, would not beware." I whispered Herrick's words, as I kept listening. I heard a lot of things that night, but what I didn't hear were the sounds she'd made for me. As much as I was sick to my stomach from the images going through my head, I still walked away smirking. He didn't make her come like I had. He didn't make her scream like I had.

That knowledge didn't make my dreams any better that night.


	20. Chapter 20

We had just arrived at Poet's Corner when Alcide's phone rang, or rather vibrated, since he'd turned off the ringer. He started talking to whoever was on the other end of the line, and I wandered off a bit, gazing in awe at the architecture of the building. Just a few short years earlier, I would never have imagined that I would be standing there. Me. Sookie Stackhouse. Small town waitress and Plain Jane. Yet there I was, whisked away after my semester in Rome (Rome!) by a gorgeous Frenchman who did nothing but dote on my every whim. I knew he wasn't particularly interested in the gothic architecture of the church. He'd already made it clear that Paris' cathedrals, particularly Notre Dame, made everything else pale in comparison, yet he came for me, because he knew I wanted to see it and, in particular, to visit Poet's Corner.

I looked over at him once again, watching him talk animatedly on the phone, his black curls falling into his face. If your only impression of him was from afar, you might think him a brute, dangerous even. In fact, the first time I met him, he both terrified and thrilled me. I was visiting Venice with Carla, a fellow student at Sapienza, whose family lived in Venice. I was about a block away from the café where I was meeting her, her brother Paolo, his boyfriend who I had not yet met, and a few friends of theirs, when I was accosted by a man in the street, which wasn't too unusual, as Italian men are known for coming on strong, particularly if they peg you as an American. Only this guy actually grabbed my arm and started pulling me toward a nearby alley. I screamed, and tried to pull my arm back, but his grip was incredibly strong. Before I had a chance to do anything else, however, a large, broad-shouldered man intervened. He pushed the guy away from me, started yelling at him in French of all things, and then started hitting the guy so hard that he went down after two punches. My savior bent down to continue the beating, until I intervened and drew him away, leaving my attacker in a huddle on the ground. The look in my rescuer's eyes was fiery, and I could see him straining with the effort of settling down. He raked his gaze over me, and I swear he was like a caged beast. It both scared me and turned me on.

A moment later, Carla, Paolo, and another large, well-built man came running around the corner. "Sookie!" Carla shouted, and came running to me. I quickly assured her that I was alright, and that I had a handsome stranger to thank, when I realized that Paolo and the other man were hugging and kissing the stranger. It turned out that my "hero" was called Alcide, and he was one of Paolo's friends that we were meeting that night. He was on the way to the café when he saw what was happening to me. Paolo made the introductions, and I thanked him for his rescue. Paolo then turned to the other man, wrapped his arm around his shoulders and said, "Sookie, this is John, _mio amore_." He said proudly. John extended his hand and said in American English, "John Quinn, it's a pleasure to meet you, Sookie."

"You're American!" was my surprised reply.

"Yes ma'am," he answered, and I detected a hint of Texas in his drawl.

"Well what do ya know? Paolo went and snagged himself a cowboy!" I said laughingly, and everyone chuckled.

We all headed back to the café. John and I chatted a bit about the States. It turned out that his parents owned a large catering company, and he was sent to Italy to study cooking. He met Paolo in cooking class. That was six months ago, and he wasn't sure he was going to go back to the States. I could see from the way they looked at each other that it was probably a safe bet John wasn't going anywhere that Paolo wouldn't be. After a while, Carla and John got into a heated political debate, while Alcide, Paolo, and his friend Alessandro, who'd joined us a bit later, were discussing a recent art exhibit they'd attended. I excused myself to head to the restroom, and when I returned to the table, Alcide began to ask me questions about myself, my studies, and my life back home. By the end of the evening, he asked me to go for a walk with him, and we strolled about the city, eating gelato and enjoying each other's company. Alcide was there on family business, and would be traveling back and forth between Rome and Venice for several months while it wrapped up. He asked if he could see me when he was next in Rome, and although I was nervous about dating again, I agreed.

When I got back to the hotel, Carla was on me like white on rice to find out what happened. She and I hit it off immediately when I arrived in Rome, particularly since she was so pleasantly surprised to find out I spoke Italian. We had to compromise, though, because she volunteered to share a flat with an American in order to improve her English. So, every other day we switched languages. It made everyone around us crazy. The day I met Alcide was English, and I had to laugh when she called Alcide a "chunk" instead of a "hunk." Her English was pretty good, but sometimes the colloquialisms and slang messed her up.

I agreed with her that he was, and she squealed with happiness. She'd been trying to get me to go out with someone almost from the moment I'd arrived, but I kept refusing. I was still so angry and hurt by both Bill and Eric, that I knew I wouldn't be very fair to anyone I met. I also understood myself well enough to know that I was in love with Eric, unrequited as it was. I thought I'd seen a glimmer of something on Thanksgiving, another side of him, but after we got back to my apartment he'd just shut down. I don't know if I misread his feelings, or if he felt the same way I did (Amelia was sure he did), and was consciously rejecting me. It really didn't matter. I still felt gutted. Seeing him and the look of disgust on his face when he saw what Bill had done to me, only made matters worse. I'd seen that look before, and I was so ashamed and heartbroken, that I couldn't bring myself to return to class after that.

So, when I arrived in Rome, I decided that I was going to avoid men for a while. I'd done an admirable job, despite Carla's urgings, but meeting Alcide that night changed everything. I was a bit leery at first, but Carla and Paolo had known him for years, and Carla assured me he was every bit as sweet as he seemed. She also made a point of telling me that I seemed to be the first woman he'd shown interest in since his split with his girlfriend, Sophie-Anne. Perhaps it was that common ground that drew me to him. And she was right. He was sweet, exceptionally so.

Alcide's family lived in the Loire Valley, in a chateaux attached to their vineyard and winery. They produced a sweet, dessert wine known as Coteaux du Layon. The first time we discussed it, Alcide's eyes lit up as he animatedly explained all about the different wine producing regions, the types of wine, and why theirs was special. I could see that he loved what he did, and his excitement was infectious.

After that first weekend, every time Alcide came to Rome we spent all of our time together, although we were not intimate right away. My attraction to him, aside from the initial effect of his impressive physique, dark, unruly hair, and bright green eyes, grew slowly. It wasn't the frenetic, all-consuming, and nearly desperate pull I had with Eric, or the slow familiarity I'd shared with Bill. It was tentative, hesitant, and sweet. It was obvious we were both skittish, and we took our time with each other, getting to know one another.

Unfortunately, when I closed my eyes at night, more often than not, my dreams were filled with Eric. It was like he was under my skin and tattooed on the backs of my eyelids. It didn't help that I knew he was only a few hours away by train. Occasionally, when a fit of bravado would hit me, I'd want to go to Cambridge and see him. I imagined myself walking into his office, confident and powerful, and demanding that he stop hiding from me. Then he would finally take me on his desk, our mutual need and desire culminating in an almost animalistic coupling, after which he would lavish me with kisses and beg my forgiveness for being a fool. Of course, I would never go to him. Sex I could do, but exposing myself emotionally? I'd never been good at trusting men, but after what I went through with Bill? There was no way I could go to him, not when I'd seen the look in his eyes on Thanksgiving that told me he was through, and not after seeing his revulsion at what Bill did to me. Why would I humiliate myself like that?

When I dreamt of him, I would wake up in tangle of sweaty sheets, breathing heavily, and with drenched panties. Despite the pleasure I'd obviously experienced, however, those dreams would always leave me in tears. And at those moments, I hated him. Hated him for the hold he still had on me. Hated him for preventing me from opening myself up to someone as wonderful as Alcide. Hated him for not loving me, or if he did love me—as Amelia said he did—for not loving me enough to make an effort.

The first time Alcide and I made love was in Venice. He planned the trip just to see me, not for business. He surprised me by showing up on a Thursday, telling me to pack a bag, and then whisking me off for a weekend holiday. We ate dinner at a restaurant that was in a grotto, and then walked hand in hand through the Piazza San Marco. Afterward, we returned to the hotel, where Alcide proceeded to make love to me slowly and reverently. The next day, as we explored the city, I thought I felt someone watching me. I turned to look, and caught a passing glimpse of a tall, blond head. _It couldn't be!_ I gave chase, but when I turned the corner whoever it was had disappeared. Alcide ran up to me, asking me what was wrong, but I told him that I just thought I'd seen a friend from school, but I must have been mistaken. I did believe I was mistaken, but my heart still beat erratically at the memory of my fevered dreams in the hospital seemingly come to life.

A month later, Alcide took me home to meet his family. That was the first time I began to wonder if Alcide and I could ever work out. When he initially described his home to me, I imagined a generously sized French country manor, but their home was much bigger. It was built of a pale limestone, with a slate roof. It had mullioned windows adorned with shutters, and a wide expanse of lawn in the front. I realized then that, foreign countries notwithstanding, Alcide and I had grown up under very, very different circumstances. I began to be nervous about what his parents would think of me, a plain barmaid from a no account town in Louisiana. As we pulled up to the door, a young girl on a horse rode across the lawn, and jumped off before the horse even came to a stop.

"Alcide!" She shrieked, and threw herself at him.

He laughed and hugged her back. "Victoire!" He pulled back and turned to me. "Sookie, I would like you to meet my sister, Victoire."

I held out my hand and said, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Victoire."

She rolled her eyes at Alcide as she shook my hand. "No one but Alcide calls me Victoire," she said laughingly. "Please, call me Vicki. Welcome." Then she leaned forward and kissed me on both cheeks. Vicki radiated the same warmth and sweetness as Alcide, and I felt somewhat less nervous, assured that their parents must be nice if Alcide and his sister were any indication.

I wasn't disappointed. Alcide's parents, Maria and Victor (for whom Victoire was named), were warm and welcoming. By the time introductions were made, and I was shown to my room, I had just enough time to get freshened up before dinner. The food was fantastic, and I made a point of making sure I got to watch Maria the next time she cooked. I loved cooking and I knew I could learn a lot from her. If I'd had any worries about my humble upbringing, they were laid to rest when Maria told me how she and Victor met. It turned out that Maria was once an actress, with the stage name of Maria Starr. She'd grown up poor, in a small village, and ran away from home when she was fifteen. She made her way to Paris and began modeling for artists, until a French director spotted her and cast her in her in a small role. Apparently, when Victor saw her for the first time, he fell in love immediately and began to pursue her. At first she wanted nothing to do with him, but eventually he won her over. It was quite the social scandal, since Victor's family disapproved of the union, having expected him to marry the daughter of the man who owned the neighboring vineyard. "But how could I settle?" He asked, his eyes never leaving his wife's face, and his love clearly not dimmed by the years. _How indeed?_ Came the unsolicited thought, and I tried to banish it from my mind. It was obvious that love and family— having children and continuing in this idyllic life—was important to them, to Alcide, and that gave me pause. Something must have shown on my face, because I felt Alcide's hand on my knee, squeezing lightly, so I turned and smiled reassuringly at him.

I don't know if Alcide sensed something, but when he came to our room later that night, he was much more aggressive than he'd ever been. It wasn't bad, in fact it was quite enjoyable, but it was very different from our usual lovemaking. Before, it had always seemed like he was afraid of hurting me. He told me once that he'd always had to be extra careful about what he did because he was so large and strong, and he was afraid he'd hurt someone. That night, however, he wasn't restrained. He made love with abandon, ferociously and desperately. As if he thought I would slip away unless he claimed me. Maybe he was right. We fell asleep, a tangle of sweaty limbs, exhausted and sated, at least physically. That was the first night that I ever dreamt of Eric while Alcide was in my bed. I don't know what sounds I may have been making in my sleep, but when I woke with a start, Alcide was looking at me hungrily, and before I could even formulate a coherent thought, he lifted my leg over his hip and thrust into me, his not inconsiderable girth stretching me in delicious ways. He didn't let me fall asleep again until it was almost dawn.

Two months later, my semester in Rome was at an end. Alcide had already convinced me to extend my stay into July, and asked me to accompany him to London in June. I knew we were both avoiding the elephant in the room, which was the fact that I was soon going to be returning to the States. When we arrived in London, and I found out we were staying at the Ritz, my eyes bugged out of my head. It was beyond extravagant, and when I made to protest, Alcide told me that it was the only place in London his family stayed, as the hotel was a large purchaser of their wine.

That night, after dinner and a touristy trip on a double-decker bus, we got caught in an unexpected London shower, and ran laughing back to the hotel. My white shirt was hiding very little, and my clothes were clinging to every one of my curves. As soon as the elevator doors shut, Alcide had me pressed up against the wall, kissing me and grinding his erection against me. We were practically pulling off our clothes in the hallway, and as soon as we got into our room, we left a trail of sopping clothes that led to the bed. We laughed as he got tangled in his wet jeans and nearly fell, but soon the laughter turned to pants and moans as our bodies worked in unison to warm us back up from the cold rain. When we finished, Alcide lay with his head on my chest, his arm and leg flung over me. It struck me that I'd never had that with Eric. Not once after we were intimate were we able to spend time just . . . being. Alcide's breathing began to even out. I knew he was drifting to sleep, and then I heard him murmur, " _Je t'aime_."

I don't know if he meant for me to hear it, or if he was already asleep, but I froze. I had been skirting the issue for some time. Carla had been asking me about my feelings for Alcide, and I'd hemmed and hawed, and talked around it, wrapping my war wounds around myself like a protective barrier. Lying there in the dark, with his warmth against me, however, I realized that I did love him. I just wasn't sure if I was _in_ love with him.

The next day we ate breakfast in the room, and made love once again before getting showered and dressed. It almost seemed like he wanted to get his fill before I left him, or perhaps he just wanted to make certain that I knew what I'd be missing if I left. Then he asked what I wanted to do. He said he had a late afternoon meeting, but that the morning and lunch were mine. I immediately told him I wanted to go to Westminster, and specifically to Poet's Corner. The very idea of a place that immortalized the writers I loved sent a thrill through me. I talked excitedly about it, and Alcide laughed lightly, teasing me gently about my love of books and words.

We made our way to the southern part of the church, and as we approached Poet's Corner, Alcide's phone began to vibrate. " _Merde_ ," I heard him say, as he looked at who was calling. He stepped away to answer it, and I spun around slowly, taking in the gothic architecture of the church. Just as I was about to turn back, a tall figure made its way around the corner, and my heart skipped a beat and then lodged itself in my throat. _It can't be!_ I thought. My hand flew to my mouth in surprise, and for a moment neither of us said anything. Then he broke the silence and said, "Sookie, you look," but before he could finish his thought, Alcide came back, wrapped his arm around me and said, "There you are, _ma chérie!"_ Before kissing my cheek. I saw Eric visibly recoil at Alcide's display of affection, and I felt a momentary thrill that I could still affect him that way, but I pushed it aside, since I had no business feeling that while I was with Alcide.

Eric finished his thought, saying that I looked well, but somehow I don't think that was what he planned to say. After another awkward moment, I remembered my manners (Gran would have been so ashamed), and I introduced them, but I got stuck trying to explain just who Eric was. He saved me from myself and told Alcide that he taught at my university. It was vague enough and Alcide, gracious as ever, warmly said hello. Then he told me he was going to have to cut our sightseeing short, but that he would meet me in time for dinner. I was disappointed, to say the least, although I wasn't afraid of exploring Westminster alone and making my way back to the hotel. Instead, before I knew it, Eric and Alcide had come to an arrangement for my day. It happened so quickly, I didn't even have a chance to get mad at either one of them before Alcide was hurrying out, and Eric sketched the most ridiculous bow I'd ever seen. I had to laugh.

He took my arm, and I felt that current of electricity that always seemed to pass between us. It was something that I had not felt with anyone else, and I couldn't deny the power it had over me. I immediately looked at Eric, and found him staring at our arms in awe. Clearly he felt it as well. A shiver ran through my body at his touch, and it made me feel things I'd buried for months. At the same time, it terrified me and I wanted to yank my hand away and run. Instead, I put on a brave face and we toured Poet's Corner, stopping to read the memorials and epitaphs engraved there, and discussing some of the authors' works. Eric asked what I was doing in England, and I realized that he didn't even know I'd been abroad in the first place. So, I recounted my semester in Rome, meeting Alcide in Venice, and our decision to take this holiday together. I saw his eyes narrow momentarily when I mentioned Venice, but then it was gone.

We came upon Herrick's memorial and I found myself letting go of Eric's arm and approaching it by myself. I reached up to trace the letters, and I remembered a time when he had traced my lips with his finger in a similar fashion and quoted Herrick to me. Then I felt him behind me, his breath ghosting across my neck, and my head instinctively want to fall back against him. I knew that if he quoted Herrick to me again, I would be lost. I would betray Alcide and open myself up to fresh wounds. Instead, I turned around and begged him not to. When my tears began to fall, he reached out to wipe them away, and I ran. He caught up to me before I got very far, and grabbed my arm, forcing me to look up at him, into those glacial blue eyes that somehow managed to radiate warmth and hunger. I was without anchor, without sail, and whichever way his storm blew me I knew I was going to founder against the rocks. Then his mouth was on mine, and oh, God help me, but I kissed him back. The heat of his lips and his tongue seared me, and I felt something inside me rekindle, shooting fire through my veins. His mouth was soft and demanding, warm and wet, and I felt more alive in that moment than at any time in the previous six months. That feeling thrummed through me, vibrating until I thought I'd crack the old stones I was pressed against. And yet, something in me pulled me back. Something reined me in, and we both pulled away and said, "I can't."

"He's a good man," I whispered, because Alcide was, and he did not deserve what I'd done.

"I'm not," he replied.

"Yes you are," I answered, confused by his response.

"No. When it comes to you, I'm selfish, high handed, and unfair. I'm sorry." He stepped away from me, clearly blaming himself for everything.

I began to tell him that he was wrong, that we were both to blame, but he silenced me with his finger on my lip, and I closed my eyes as the electricity pulsed through us once more. He brooked no argument about taking me back to the hotel, and when I told the driver where, he laughed and said something about Fate that I didn't understand until we walked into the hotel, and I discovered that he was staying there as well. Fate really did seem to be a cruel mistress, as we realized we were only a couple of doors down from each other. It seemed my life was destined to be difficult.

When he said goodbye, he kissed my cheek and I know I leaned in to him, wanting to savor the connection for another moment. I felt him pause before he turned and left. I watched him walk away, enjoying the sight of his gorgeous behind. I would deal with my guilt when the door shut behind me.

Which is exactly what I did. I got angry at Eric for, once again, toying with my emotions. I got angry at Fate for throwing him in my path. Finally, I got angry at myself for letting it go so far, for allowing myself to be drawn into his orbit again, where I would just wind up being spun off, adrift and without tether. I had a man who loved me, who treated me with respect and caring, and who made love to me as if I was the last woman he ever wanted to touch. A man I loved as well. I resolved to make sure Alcide knew that I loved him that night, even as the darker corners of my mind asked, _But are you in love with him? Are you settling? And when he knows everything about you, will he be settling as well?_

I took extra care getting dressed for dinner that night, wanting to make sure I looked especially good for Alcide. I tried not to let the guilt eat at me, but I can't deny that it wasn't what was driving me. I wore some sexy lingerie under my dress that he had brought me from Paris, and put up my hair the way he liked. When he stepped into the room, he just stood and stared at me, raking his eyes over me. Then he walked over, or rather stalked over, grabbed me by the back of the neck and kissed me as if his life depended on it. " _Ma chérie,_ " he said, his voice hoarse with desire, "you make it very difficult to want to leave this room." And he began placing warm, open mouthed kisses on my neck and throat.

"Then let's not," I answered.

He captured my mouth in another kiss before chuckling lightly and saying, "Oh, you are a temptress, but no! Tonight I am taking you out. Besides, I want to show you off. I want every man who sees you to burn with jealousy that you are with me." He punctuated his statement with another deep kiss, and his hand lightly grazed my breast. I can't say that I wasn't turned on. It wasn't the deep fire Eric lit inside me earlier that day, but it was still good. I pushed Eric to the back of my mind.

I fixed my lipstick, and wiped off the traces I'd left on Alcide's mouth, and then he led me out of the room. Just as the door closed behind us, we came face to face with Eric. I silently cursed Fate once more, as I took in how wonderful he looked. His hair was down and flowing around his shoulders, and he was wearing a light gray turtleneck sweater that, somehow, made his ice blue eyes look stormy; black pants perfectly encased his award-winning ass. Eric looked at me with undisguised lust in his eyes. His gaze was so intense, that before he even said a word, I could feel moisture pooling between my legs. I didn't know how Alcide didn't see it. Eric finally told me that I looked lovely, and my blush started at my toes and raced its way up to my face. When Alcide leaned in and whispered in my ear, "Burning with jealousy, my temptress," I realized that he absolutely had seen Eric's reaction. Then he invited Eric to join us! There was no way I would make it through dinner with the two of them, and thankfully Eric politely declined, saying that he had plans. I was so relieved.

Alcide took me to a lovely restaurant for dinner, and despite what people say, the British absolutely do know how to cook. I was distracted during dinner, as images of Eric kept jumping into my head, but once we started dancing, I let it all go. At first we were just having fun, but eventually, we wound up grinding up against each other in a not-so-PG-rated version of some dirty dancing. He spun me around so my back was against his chest and his hard on was pressed against my backside. He put his hands on my hips and we moved in tandem, swaying and bumping to the music. Then he leaned down and whispered in my ear, "Every man in here is watching us, and they all want you. But it's me you are going to leave with, and it's me who is going to make love to you until you can't walk." Despite the heat on the dance floor, my skin erupted in goose bumps at his words. I reached up to his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. Then I said two, little words: "Prove it." And he did. Over and over and over.

At five in the morning I was still lying awake, staring at the ceiling. Alcide and I had made love several times, and he satisfied me each and every time, as I rode out tiny earthquakes of pleasure, with soft murmurs and groans. And this time when he said, " _Je t'aime_ ," he wasn't asleep, and he clasped a beautiful diamond pendant around my neck. We fell asleep entwined, but once again, I dreamed of Eric. I dreamed of Niall's wine cellar, and the orgasm that tore through me like a freight train and ripped the scream from my throat. I woke up gasping and panting. I had rolled to the other side of the bed and was clutching my pillow, hugging it to me like a body while it wedged between my legs. I looked over at Alcide, but he was still sleeping peacefully, his handsome face nearly boyish in sleep; his long, dark lashes lay against his cheeks, and several curls were plastered to his forehead. I began to cry. Why? Why couldn't Eric leave me alone? Why did he have to haunt my dreams? Why did he have to remind me of what only he'd been able to give me, to do to me, to make me feel? I lay there for hours until finally, at five, I gave up and decided to go for a walk.

I slipped on a pair of jeans and a warm, v-neck sweater, threw on some sneakers, and headed out. It had rained while we were inside, and the sidewalks were wet. The air was cool and clean, and the streets were relatively quiet. I walked over to Green Park and just wandered for a bit, trying to clear my head of Eric and bring my focus back to Alcide. I kept worrying about whether I was settling, but I didn't think I was. Alcide was a wonderful man, an attentive lover, and generous almost to a fault. He adored me, he loved me, and he wanted me. Eric made me feel things inside that I never knew were possible, but even if he did love me, he didn't seem to want me, at least not as part of his life, or as anything other than an occasional liaison. I realized that I deserved more. I fingered the diamond at my throat. I'd forgotten it was still on when I left the hotel.

The sun began to tint the horizon pink, and I decided to head back. I was getting cold and wanted a cup of coffee. Plus, if Alcide woke up, he'd be worried. I walked back to the hotel, feeling a bit lighter. I deserved this happiness. I deserved to try and figure out a way to make my relationship with Alcide work, despite the distance. I was going to tell him that I loved him, and we were going to figure out a way to survive the separation. I was almost at the hotel, and was turning the pendant over in my fingers again, when I looked up. Approaching from the other direction was Eric, and in the dim glow of the early morning light, he looked every bit the Viking he was descended from, and he had a slight smile on his face. My heart began to thud in my chest, and I felt that unbearable pull toward him. _NO!_ My brain screamed. _Alcide is waiting for you!_ When Eric saw me, he came to a stop. His eyes followed my hand and stopped at my throat, and the smile faltered. For a moment, he just held me in his gaze, and I felt like a rabbit trapped by the hunter, a rabbit that knows it is about to be caught. He brought his eyes back to mine, then he turned on his heel and left. I let out a shaky breath, and willed away my tears. Alcide was waiting, and so was my future. But first, there was something I would have to tell him.


	21. Chapter 21

"Eric!" Niall exclaimed, as he opened the door and pulled me in for a hug. I had missed this. I'd been home for three weeks, and although Niall and I had already spent some time together, catching up on my life had taken up quite a bit of those three weeks. However, I'd come over that morning intent on doing nothing after breakfast but spending time with my mentor, friend, and surrogate father. With school out of session, he was able to take a short vacation himself, although he called it a "staycation." I never knew how the man stayed so current on modern vernacular. Perhaps he paid more attention to his students than I realized.

We had a lovely breakfast. As always, Niall's culinary skills made for a very happy me. We were sitting in his sunroom, enjoying a cup of coffee when he looked over the rim of his coffee cup and asked, "So, did you meet anyone special while you were away?"

I choked on my coffee and spit some out. "Umm, excuse me." I sputtered, as I used a napkin to blot some of the coffee I'd managed to spray out. "No, Niall. I didn't meet anyone special."

I mean, what was I supposed to say? _No, but I did try to fuck my way through half of Cambridge before I realized that the only "special" person I wanted, I couldn't have. Of course, I "had" her plenty in my dreams, and if that's what you mean, then hey, yeah, I'm all set!_

"Oh," he replied, but something in his gaze told me it was more than a passing question. However, since it wasn't a conversation I wanted to have, I didn't ask him why he asked.

We continued to chat, discussing the upcoming fall schedule, new academic publications, a couple of new books we'd read, and other "safe" topics. Finally, it was time to take my leave. I was heading to the townhouse in the city, and needed to make my train. As I was heading out the door, Niall stopped me.

"Eric, do you mind doing me a favor? Claudine left this last time she was here. Could you stop by the office and drop it off for her?"

"Of course, Niall," I replied. Actually, I hadn't seen Claudine since I'd been back, and I thought maybe I could steal her away for a cup of coffee and an opportunity to catch up a bit. "No problem."

I grabbed the bag from Niall, and left. I got to the publishing house at about three o'clock, and walked right to Claudine's office. I winked at her secretary, Crystal, and headed in. I was well-known here, so unless Claudine was in a meeting, they knew I could just go in unannounced.

I pushed the door open and was immediately assailed by a familiar scent. _No. It couldn't be. She's probably off in France somewhere with Mr. Diamond Necklace._ I hated to even think of his name. I knew I could never be the one in her life, but fuck if I wasn't irrationally jealous of Alcide Herveaux. I even researched everything I could about him and his family in some bizarre and unhealthy fixation. As if finding something unsavory about him could change anything—because, if I was honest with myself, regardless of the decisions I'd come to that morning in London, seeing that necklace on Sookie's neck did us both a favor. I could continue to live with my dreams, and she could have her fantasy life, with a perfectly nice (and age appropriate) man who could give her all the things I never could; his entire heart, his trust, his very being. Seeing that necklace only reminded me how incapable of all that I really was, and how I'd deluded myself into believing anything else.

I pushed the door open further and heard that voice, _her_ voice. "Claudine, are you sure it's in this drawer?" I looked over to the right, and there she was by Claudine's desk, bent over the filing cabinet with those incredible fucking legs and that incredible fucking ass. _This can't be happening_. I'm pretty sure I groaned out loud before I could catch myself. Claudine's eyes shot to mine, and a smirk played across her face. I narrowed my eyes at her, and she purred, "Hello, Eric."

I saw Sookie stiffen, and then slowly she stood up and turned to face me. It was so like that day in my office when I nearly bit her. Her hair was up, her face was flushed from bending over a filing cabinet, and her tanned legs were bare and peeking out of a sundress. I could feel my dick begin to harden at the sight of her, and began thinking of anything I could to make it stop. _Fourteen lines in a sonnet. Used to best effect by Shakespeare, Milton, Donne . . . no, no, don't think of Donne. Shit, not helping. Old ladies in bikinis . . . okay, good . . . wonder what Sookie looks like in a bikini . . . shit, still not helping . . . old ladies . . . old . . . Maxine! Maxine Fortenberry in a bikini . . ._ And like a needle hitting a balloon, my problem went away. Of course, I then had two sets of eyes staring at me like I was insane. I realized I had been silent for far too long.

"Hi Claudine. Sookie." I tried to act nonchalant. "Are you working here now?" I asked her.

Her eyes finally met mine, and for a moment I was lost in a sea of blue, drowning, unable to breathe, and not really caring. Then I realized that someone was talking.

". . . internship, since I got back."

Sookie was saying something about having an internship, but I had no idea how much information I'd missed. All I knew was that Fate was back to being a bitch. Not only was I a totally right fucked bastard who couldn't give my heart to a woman as spectacular as she, and not only was she taken by a young stud who could give her the world, but now she was going to be a part of my intimate life—a part of my inner circle and family. Fuck me sideways.

And she was still wearing that God damned necklace.

"Oh, that's nice," I said, and I looked at Claudine who smirked at me. I narrowed my eyes. "Niall wanted me to bring you this," I continued, as I handed her a bag. "Do you have time for a cup of coffee?"

I knew I was being rude to Sookie. I should have invited her to join us, or at least offered to bring her back a cup of coffee, but I really didn't care at that moment. I was about to go Viking on Claudine, and couldn't have Sookie around for that.

As Claudine and I walked out into the hallway, I gripped her tightly by the elbow, and hit the down button angrily. She just smiled at me, like a cat that ate the fucking canary, and said, "Is something wrong, Eric?"

I just glared at her, but didn't say anything. I knew Claudine. If I stayed quiet, she'd eventually crack. She couldn't stand awkward or angry silences. We got in the elevator and I pushed the button for the lobby. Silence. We exited the elevator. Silence. We walked out of the building. Silence. We got to Starbucks, and . . .

"Eric!" Claudine practically shouted at me, frustration oozing off of her in waves.

"Yes, Claudine?" _Oh, how the worm turns, my friend!_

"Please stop with the silent treatment." She actually looked . . . repentant. I didn't buy it for a second.

I placed my order, and looked at Claudine expectantly. She huffed, ordered her coffee, and I paid. We waited, and still I said nothing. I knew this was killing her, but I was feeling a bit peevish. I mean seriously, of all the people to hire as an intern!

We got our coffee and found a table. "Why, Claudine?" She looked confused. "Why her? Why did you hire her? Just to torment me?" I held no illusions that Claudine didn't know anything. Not between Felicia and Niall, and particularly not if, as Felicia claimed, we were so obvious on Thanksgiving.

"Jesus Eric! You really are a self-absorbed prick, you know?" Okay. Not really how I saw the conversation going. "You think this is about you? You're lucky this coffee is hot, or you'd be wearing it," she seethed at me. "Sookie asked me about an internship at Thanksgiving. She's interested in getting into publishing, and frankly, she's over qualified to be an intern, but I wanted to help her get her foot in the door. She's the best assistant I've ever had, and if I have anything to say about it, she's going to have a job as soon as she graduates."

Shit. I really was being a self-absorbed prick. Of course she would want Sookie to work for her; the girl is smart, she knows her lit, and she's a great analytical writer. I ran a hand through my hair. "Damn it, I'm sorry Claudine."

"Felicia was right. Sookie has you fit to be tied, doesn't she?"

I growled, because I was a bit pissed off that Felicia was discussing Sookie with Claudine, but in fairness, I was starting to realize that after Thanksgiving, when it came to my extended family, Sookie was apparently fair game. "Shit." I folded my arms on the table and dropped my head onto them. "It doesn't matter," I mumbled.

"What?" Claudine asked.

I looked up at her. "It doesn't matter." I said. "She's with that Herveaux kid. It doesn't matter how tied or untied I am, okay?" And I fixed her with a stare that indicated I was through with the conversation.

We chatted a little longer, and thankfully Claudine seemed to get the hint and not push the matter further. It was bad enough that I'd already been raked over the coals by Felicia when I got home. I didn't need to get into it with Claudine. God. Felicia. I swear she took one look at me when she picked me up from the airport and she knew—she just knew! How did she do that? By the time we'd driven home, she'd pried everything about London from me. Westminster. The Ritz. Standing outside their room (and yes, that was embarrassing to recount). And finally, that last morning I saw her.

I'd been walking for hours. After listening to them make love I went to my room and tried to sleep, but I kept _hearing_ them in my head. Then, when I shut my eyes, I was picturing them together. I saw Sookie's face as she came, over and over, but she would be looking up into his eyes, not mine, and I couldn't take it anymore. So, I threw some clothes on and left the hotel. I didn't even care where I was walking to; I just walked.

As I walked, I thought. I thought, and I remembered, and I came to a stunning understanding: I didn't just want Sookie. I was in love with her, but even more frightening was that I felt like I needed her. I'd spent the last ten years floating on the current of life, only dipping my toes in and never really taking a swim, and Sookie was making me want to dive in head first. It was invigorating and exciting, and I was actually looking forward to the plunge. For the first time in a decade I was going to let someone in—I _wanted_ to let someone in. I rubbed my hand over my face as I realized I was going to have to tell her everything, and I hoped to God she was patient because this was not going to be easy for me to do. My life was so carefully constructed around the events of the previous decade that I wasn't exactly sure _how_ to let someone in, but I knew that I had to try. I was going to have to get her alone and talk to her. I didn't care that she had just made love to Herveaux. He was nothing in the grand scheme of things, wasn't he? He was a fling, the classic affair with a foreigner. It couldn't last, and wouldn't survive the distance.

I started to make my way back to the hotel, with myriad scenarios playing through my head of telling Sookie of my feelings for her. In some, she broke out into a smile. In others, she yelled at me, angry for doing this to her when she'd finally met someone else. In yet another, she fainted, and in another, she cried. In every single one of them, though, her arms wound up around my neck, our lips were locked together, and all the passion and intensity we'd felt at Westminster was raging through us, mixed in with happiness. As I approached the hotel, my lips curled into the kind of smile I hadn't felt in a very long time. Then I looked up, and everything came crashing down, because never once, in any of those images that played through my head, was Sookie wearing a diamond pendant given to her by another man. Reality ripped through me, as the dawning comprehension of what I was seeing sunk in. You don't buy a woman something like that, and you certainly don't accept something like that, if all you want is a summer fling. No, a gift like that bespoke of much, much more. I almost laughed at myself then.

Our eyes met and she looked so hopeful, and it was then that I grasped that it wasn't me that put that look in her eyes. It wasn't me, because whatever fucking epiphanies I thought I'd had while wandering the streets of London weren't enough. They were much too little, and much too late. I'd had my shot at the brass ring, and I blew it. I didn't know how to hold on to the prize, so it slipped through my fingers, into the waiting hands of a man who seemed much more capable. A man who, apparently, could give her the things my past and my years of seclusion had prevented me from being able to do. What had I been thinking? I turned on my heel and walked away.

I had the hotel pack my things and forward them to Grosvenor House, where I spent the remaining few days of my stay in London, and studiously avoided the usual tourist stops. I couldn't bear the thought of looking at her again, of seeing _them_ again. I already knew that I was hopeless around her, but if I could avoid her, maybe I'd have a chance of rebuilding my walls and resuming my previous life. It would never be the same, but maybe at least I'd be able to breathe again without it hurting. I was doing just that over the course of the three weeks I'd been home, until I walked into Claudine's office and had every inch of progress smashed to pieces at the sight of Sookie bent over that filing cabinet. And the worst part was that I knew my torture was only beginning. If Claudine felt as strongly about Sookie as she seemed to, she was going to make her a friend as well as a co-worker, because that's just how she was, which meant I was thoroughly fucked.

Claudine and I finished our coffee, but before we left, I went to the barista and ordered an iced blended mocha. Claudine arched a brow at me and I muttered, "For Sookie." I'd noticed that even during cold weather, Sookie seemed to favor these, and often had one with her during class, and always with a generous helping of whipped cream on top. I walked Claudine back to her office building, but declined to come back up. I handed her the iced blended to take to Sookie and she asked, "Any message?" I shook my head, because what could I say? Then I gave Claudine a kiss on the cheek, and promised her I'd be over for dinner in the next week, after I sorted out my new class schedule and got some things organized for the fall semester.

The next month went by quickly, with the start of classes and my personal obligations keeping me busy. Although I overheard Claudine on a call with Sookie discussing a "girls' night out" while we were at Niall's for dinner, I had otherwise avoided seeing or hearing about her. Of course, the dreams had not stopped, so I at least got to continue my fantasy life. Unfortunately, my subconscious occasionally decided to torment me with dreams of Sookie and Alcide, wherein I was a voyeur watching them make love. Sometimes I was in the room with them, sitting in a chair, but other times I was more like a peeping Tom. I hated those dreams, and woke up with an empty ache in my chest and a slight sense of shame.

I gathered up my things after office hours, and headed down the hall toward Worthington's office, planning on seeing if he wanted to head to our usual pub for a drink, before I had to meet Felicia for dinner. As I walked up to his door, a familiar smell brought me up short. I shook my head. _She is an English major, you dolt. She probably walked by here not long ago_. I lifted my hand to knock when I distinctly heard a moan, and then Worthington's voice, "oh my God, so good." It was immediately followed by a light laugh and a "thank you," and my stomach clenched. _Sookie_. Even if I hadn't heard her speak, I knew the sound of her laugh. It was throaty and sexy, unrestrained and real. I felt like I was going to throw up. I turned around and walked away, heading for the pool so that I could lose myself in the numbing cycle of endless laps.

By the time I got to the restaurant, I was in a foul mood. Felicia was late, so I sat at the bar and had a drink. When she finally arrived, I snapped at her, "You're late!"

She eyed me speculatively and then asked, "What crawled up your ass and died?"

"I don't want to talk about it. Let's get a table." I threw some money on the bar for my drink, and walked over to the hostess, who immediately led us to a table.

We didn't talk as we perused the menu, but after the waitress took our order, Felicia asked, "Is this about Sookie?"

I grimaced, and then I sighed, because I knew there was no way Felicia was going to leave it alone. "She's fucking Worthington."

Felicia laughed. She fucking laughed. "There's no way she fucking Worthington, Eric. It isn't her style."

"What isn't? Getting involved with her professors?" I shot back.

"No, Eric. Trust me on this. I know my fellow females. She isn't jumping from affair to affair. You said she was involved with that French kid, what's his name? Hell, she wouldn't pursue anything with you because she was with him, and now you think she's involved with Worthington? C'mon. You may suck at reading her, but even you can't be that blind."

"I know what I heard today, Felicia."

"What did you hear?"

I told Felicia what I heard, and she fucking laughed. Again.

"And from that you deduced they were having sex? You couldn't have assumed he was, oh eating a sandwich or a piece of chocolate cake? Is that because of Sookie or because of him? Which one of them really has you convinced it was sex?"

I sat back and thought about her question. It was actually a good one, because if I hadn't heard what I'd heard, I would never have suspected that Sookie was the type to jump into another affair, but Worthington? Yeah, I'd seen the way he checked out the coeds. I also knew he wasn't married. Well, he had a live-in partner, and a child, but apparently she didn't believe in marriage, so they were just . . . together. Which meant he was free . . . sort of? Maybe? Oh fuck, I had no clue. Felicia and I finished dinner quietly, and then went back to my house, watched a movie together, and I fell asleep with my head in her lap. I don't know how long I was asleep before the dream woke me up. At least I was the only man in the dream that time. I don't know what I would have done if Worthington got added into the repertoire. I just know that when I woke up, Felicia was looking down at me, my head still in her lap, with a sad smile on her face. I stood up and pulled her to her feet. We walked to my room, undressed, and climbed into my bed together. I lay my head across her stomach like we did when we were kids, and we fell asleep. She'd been so right a year ago—my reputation certainly wasn't keeping me warm at night.

Over the next few weeks, I kept watch on Worthington's office, and realized that Sookie had come and gone several times, but a sneaked peek into her schedule told me she had no classes with him. In fact, she only had two classes, and the rest of her units seemed to be from her internship, and an independent study course, which I knew was probably set up through Niall, as was standard procedure for independent studies. I growled in frustration. I wanted to believe Felicia. I hated not knowing what was going on, but I dreaded the truth even more, and frankly, my behavior was bordering on the stalkerish. It all made me realize just how inadequately equipped I was to be involved with anyone. My scars were my own, and not meant to be inflicted on anyone else.

I went to the library to do some research for a new paper I wanted to write. It was still in the planning stages, however, and I needed a bit more background to form my outline. I headed down to the bowels of the library, which housed the books I needed. It also had a number of tables I could spread out across, and even if it wasn't a Thursday evening (notorious for being a party, not study, night) it was usually quiet down there. As I'd guessed, almost no one was on the bottom floor. I looked around, and all the study tables but one were empty. I set my messenger bag and coffee cup down, and headed to the section I needed. I turned the corner, and literally slammed into another body. I shot my hand out to keep them from falling down, and as I grabbed a handful of soft, smooth skin, the scent of my dreams and my nightmares hit me, and I looked down into those unusual blue eyes that haunted my waking and sleeping hours.

I let go of her like my hands had been burned. I wasn't sure they hadn't been. "Sorry," we both blurted out at the same time, and I had to chuckle. "Well, I won't keep you," I said.

"Oh, just doing a bit of research," she said with a shrug, and walked back to her table.

I watched her as she walked, feeling my pants tighten a bit at the sight of her ass swaying in her skirt. Didn't the woman own any pants? _As if you'd stare any less at her ass in jeans._ I shook my head and wandered down the aisle, until I reached the section I needed. After a few minutes, I sat at my table with my selections, and tried to do some work. _Tried,_ being the operative word. I couldn't stop looking at her, and she caught me more than once, but I couldn't look away. I was beyond shame. Finally, she got up and went to get another book, and as she walked away, it hit me. She wasn't wearing the necklace.

She wasn't wearing the fucking necklace.

I took a deep breath and stood up. I followed her into the stacks. I tried a couple of aisles before I found her. She was on a steel, library issue step stool, on her tip toes, precariously reaching for a book on the top shelf. Her skirt was riding up, and I caught a glimpse white lace on her thigh. _Fuck_. I was done. No more. I couldn't, and wouldn't, be denied any longer. I came up behind her, my height allowing me to access the top shelf, pressed against her and whispered in her ear, "Let me help you with that," as I reached up and grabbed the book she was trying to get. I heard her breath hitch, and her hands dropped to the next shelf down and gripped it tightly.

I placed the book on the lower shelf, but didn't move away from her. I ran my nose along her neck, taking in her smell. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?" I asked. She whimpered in response. I gripped her hips and ground my erection into her ass, which thanks to the step stool, was at a perfect height. "I'm tired of waiting my turn, Sookie. I'm tired of wanting what others have. It's killing me."

I slid my hands up her sides, brushing against her breasts, and I felt a tremor run through her body. I ran one hand over her chest, teasing her nipples through the fabric of her shirt, while the other swept up into her hair, gripping it, and tugging her head to the side, exposing her neck to me. I watched her pulse point throb as her excitement grew, and ran my tongue along it, up to her ear, sucking on her earlobe and groaning as she bucked against me. I trailed a hand down her stomach, and further, dipping under her skirt and pushing the fabric up as I ran my hand along the inside of her thigh, exposing her stocking clad legs, and the scraps of lace that held them up. Her ass was exposed, except for the "v" of her thong, and I ran my hand appreciatively over it. My other hand tightened its grip on her hair and brought her ear to my mouth once more. "Fucking beautiful," I murmured, before hooking my finger in the flimsy fabric and tearing it off. Her gasp was audible then, and when my fingers danced over her wet folds, I heard her whisper, "Oh God." I smirked. "If you insist," I said as I slid a finger into her and then another, moving them in and out until she was thrusting against my hand. I felt her walls begin to tense around my fingers, and I let go of her hair and brought my other hand down to her sensitive nub, rubbing circles on it, until her thighs clenched around my wrist and I felt her muscles pulsing, as moisture dripped over my hand. She was chanting something softly, but so quietly that I couldn't make it out. I slipped my fingers from her and said, "I wonder if you taste as good as I remember," before bringing my fingers to my mouth. "Fuck yes. You're fucking delicious." I heard her moan in reply. I was nearly incoherent with want. Everything about her was driving me insane: her smell, her skin, her taste, the sounds she made, everything. I wanted to claim her. I wanted to make her mine, and in that moment I didn't think about my past, or my issues, or the guilt. All I thought about was her, and erasing any memory of Bill Compton, and Alcide Herveaux, and Adam Worthington. I would make her forget them. I _needed_ her to forget them. I needed her—desperately, completely, and without reason.

I spun her around and pulled her to me, covering her mouth with mine, and kissing her until she couldn't breathe, and then moving to her throat, relentlessly tasting her, touching her, consuming her. And it still wasn't enough. I unbuckled my belt and tore open my jeans, barely getting them low enough to release my straining cock. I grabbed her hips, angling her so that her back was resting against the shelves, and slowly lowered her onto me. And oh shit, but I couldn't breathe. Nothing had ever felt like it. Nothing had ever felt so perfect. She was so tight, and warm, and wet, and her muscles clung to me, pulling me deeper, stroking me gently.

"Oh fuck," I grunted. "So good. So fucking good." I started moving against her, and I know her back was slamming into the shelves, but she was giving as good as she got, somehow rolling her hips against me, and tightening her muscles around me every time I pulled out. Her hands were threaded into my hair, and she was practically pulling it out, she was gripping it so tightly, but it only spurred me on. My forehead was resting against hers, and all I could think was that I should have done it sooner, and what the fuck did I wait for? And then I thought, no more waiting. No more Bill. No more Alcide. No more anyone. Only me. Mine. She was mine. And I wasn't ever going to let her go again.

Then suddenly she was hitting me, and telling me to stop, and I realized she was crying. Fuck! What had I done? I pulled away from her, my body crying from the loss, and tried to look at her face, and I asked her what was wrong.

"I'm not a bone to fight over! Fuck you. Is that what this is about? Other men? You sound just like Bill. Are you marking your territory? Why don't you just bite me too, and have done with it? God, I thought you were different! I thought you might actually. . .'' Her sentence remained unfinished as a huge sob tore through her, and she ran off.

Oh God. I'd said it aloud. "FUCK!" I yelled. And at least that time I meant to be heard.

One week later, I still hadn't seen or spoken to her. I tried to call her three times, but hung up each time, completely at a loss as to what to say. She told me I sounded like Compton, and her comment about biting made me understand what happened after Thanksgiving a little better. I was disgusted with myself for my behavior, because she was right. Just because what I did was pleasurable, and not physically abusive, didn't make my motives any more pure than his. I didn't tell her how I felt. I didn't ask if she felt anything for me, other than a physical attraction. I just took from her and tried to possess her, and I hated myself for it. But what did she mean when she said she thought I was different? And what was she going to say that was left unsaid? Was she going to say she felt something for me? And if she was, did I destroy that?

I couldn't keep it from Felicia, either. First of all, ever since I came home, she seemed to be hovering about me more, like a worried mother over a sick child, and I can't deny that the analogy wasn't apt. Second, the minute she saw my face later that week, she knew something was wrong, and as I've said before, I've never been able to hide anything from her.

We were at the townhouse in the city, sitting in the library.

"What happened?"

I twisted my glass in my hand, trying to think of a way to avoid the conversation. I knew I couldn't, so I mumbled, my words toppling over each other, "I had sex with Sookie in the school library and told her she was mine and no one else's."

Felicia stared at me like I was road kill. "Let me get this straight. You finally had sex with her and you acted like a Neanderthal? In the library, Eric? Did you use protection?"

I looked up at her in a panic.

"Jesus Christ, Eric."

I hadn't even thought about protection. For the first time in my life, it didn't even cross my mind. "Well, we didn't finish. She stopped me and told me off for treating her like Compton did. And before you yell at me, I already know I was an ass, okay?" Felicia stood up and grabbed her purse. "Where are you going?"

"It's girls' night out. I'm meeting Claudine and some other friends." She paused at the door. "You need to apologize to her, Eric. Jesú, you need to tell her how you feel. This not talking thing you two are doing? It isn't working."

"Look at me Felicia. Look at my life. I'm not good at this anymore. Maybe I never was. If I had been, things would be different, and you know it."

"Eric, stop blaming yourself already. It's getting old, and frankly, it's incredibly egotistical. As if you control everything in the universe. Grow a set, Eric." And she walked out.

I sat there, nursing another drink for an hour, trying to come to terms with everything. Trying to make a decision. Trying to "grow a set," as Felicia so lovingly put it. Finally, with a snarl, I threw the glass at the fireplace, sending shards of prism-filled crystal scattering across the hearth, and I stood up and headed upstairs to face my demons and, hopefully, to put them to rest.

It was coming up on the end of October, and I couldn't stop thinking about the same time the previous year, and everything that had happened since. I ran into Worthington in the hallway and he convinced me to join him and his family on Halloween. No big party, no costumes, just dinner with a friend who was taking their son trick-or-treating, and handing out candy to the neighborhood children. It sounded almost idyllic, but I had to admit I was also curious to see if I could find out what the connection between him and Sookie was, because I couldn't talk to her without knowing more, and there was no way to ask without it being suspicious.

It was still early when I arrived at Worthington's house. Halloween is, usually considered a children's holiday, after all. His home was in a typical, suburban neighborhood, clearly geared toward families with children. Almost every house was decorated for the holiday with pumpkins, spider webs, and other Halloween appropriate items. A tricycle sat in the driveway. I knocked on the door and Worthington answered. We exchanged pleasantries, and he led me inside. A tiny Luke Skywalker flew by me, and Worthington reached out to snag him before he disappeared. He held the squirming child up and said, "Adam, this is Mr. Northman. Say hello."

"You're really tall, Mr. Norfman," Adam Jr. said, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"Yes, I suppose I am. But you can just call me Eric."

"Okay Ewic!" And he squirmed out of his dad's arms and went running to the kitchen, where I heard a female voice yell out, "Adam! Get your fingers out of the frosting!" I chuckled again.

"Never a dull moment," Worthington said laughing, as he took my coat. He led me to the kitchen, where he introduced me to his girlfriend, Thalia. We chatted for a few minutes as she put the finishing touches on dinner, and Worthington poured us some wine. The sound of the front door opening brought a smile to Thalia's face. "Finally."

"Hi guys! Sorry I'm late!"

I froze at the sound of that voice, and when she came in through the kitchen door, I nearly dropped my wine glass. Costumes may not have been required, but Sookie was dressed in one. Well, if you call it dressed. My heart skipped a few beats, and I actually had a moment of panic when I thought maybe I was having a heart attack. In what I'm sure was probably a subconscious display of peevishness, she was dressed as a school girl: short plaid skirt, knee high socks, Mary Jane shoes, a white button up blouse, and her hair was in two long braids. She stopped short when she saw me, her eyes growing wide and darting between me and Thalia.

Before anyone could say a word, and before the moment could become too awkward, Adam Jr. came running in and shouted, "Sookie!" Before jumping into her arms. "You're wate."

She looked him right in the eyes and said, "I know I am. I'm so sorry, but I forgot my coat and had to go back home to get it. Do you forgive me?" She said it without the childish voice so many adults adopt when speaking to children. She spoke to him as she would to anyone else, and it clearly worked, as he looked at her and said, with equal gravity, "Yes. This time. But don't wet it happen again." I could see her attempt to hold back her smile and adopt a chagrined look as she replied, "Yes sir, Mr. Skywalker." The child giggled, got down from her arms, and ran off again. Thalia shouted after him, "Dinner in five minutes, Adam!"

Worthington stepped up, "Eric, you remember Sookie, don't you?" He turned to look at Thalia, "Sookie was Eric's student last year." Comprehension dawned on her face, "Oh! She's the one whose paper he had you read? The really incredible one?"

"One and the same," he replied, with a smile. "Why do you think I snagged her as my research assistant?"

Sookie looked at me, "Professor, it's good to see you."

"Oh please Sookie, you're not in his class anymore," Thalia interjected. "You don't have to be so formal." Sookie's cheeks turned pink. _Oh if only you knew, Thalia_.

I laughed at the utter absurdity of the situation. "That's right, Sookie. Please call me Eric," I said. The entire situation was playing out like a bad movie.

"Sookie, I'm so glad you're here. Adam was starting to wear a hole in the floor pacing in front of the windows waiting for you." Thalia laughed.

"Well I'd never let him down," Sookie replied. "Plus, I haven't gone trick-or-treating in so many years, it's going to be fun for me as well."

"What time is your party?" Thalia asked.

"Oh, it doesn't start until nine, but I can show up later if I have to."

Sookie was going to a party. Dressed like that. My inner caveman started to get restless, even though I told him he had no right to. I knew Felicia's party was that night, and I couldn't help but wonder if Sookie was going to it again.

"So, Sookie, you're Worthington's research assistant?"

"Yes," she answered, clearly not wanting to talk to me.

Worthington jumped in. "Actually, it's more than that. Sookie is also in an independent study program with me. In fact, we are working jointly on two halves of a project, and Sookie will get co-authorship with me. Thank you for showing me her paper, Eric. I've never had a better researcher, or project partner."

Sookie blushed as Thalia interjected. "Yeah, these two are thick as thieves. If I didn't know better, I would have thought they were having an affair!" Sookie's blush deepened, and Worthington laughed and took the moment to kiss Thalia. I noticed that neither actually denied the suggestion, and once again I grew uneasy about what I heard that day in his office.

"What is this project, Sookie?" I asked.

She looked down at the floor, but then I saw her square her shoulders and she looked me right in the eyes. "We're writing about Restoration and 18th Century erotic and amatory poetry and prose. Adam is taking the male perspective, and analyzing everyone from Donne and Herrick to Wilmot and Cleland, and I'm analyzing the female perspective, both reactions to the writing, and in the works of authors such as Behn, Haywood, and Manley. I'm particularly interested in where the distinctions lie between women being perceived as lovers versus property. You know, something to possess."

I winced. I might have thought she emphasized the name Herrick, but there was no mistaking the meaning behind her final comments. Before I could ask her anymore questions, however, Thalia announced that dinner was ready, and we all headed into the dining room. Dinner was an animated affair, mostly dominated by the very excited Adam Jr., who sat next to Sookie, clearly besotted with her. Not that I could blame him.

As soon as dinner was over, Adam was practically dragging Sookie out the door, and they left to go trick-or-treating. Thalia sighed. "That girl is god-send. She is so good with Adam." She looked over at Worthington. "You may be thrilled to have her as your research assistant, but I'm just thrilled that we finally have a decent baby sitter!" She laughed. "Now go on, shoo. Go talk about your project or whatever. I'll man the door." And she grabbed a large bowl full of candy and headed to the front of the house.

Worthington and I headed into his study, where he poured us each a cognac. We talked academics mostly, and I asked him about their project. I was desperate to hear anything he could tell me about Sookie, while simultaneously imagining how their subject matter could arouse them into passion. It was making me sick to my stomach.

"I tell you Eric, I don't know how you let that girl go. I don't know another professor who wouldn't have grabbed her up in an instant as their research assistant after the work she did in your class."

I smiled ruefully. "Yes, I can see that now." _Oh, how I can see that. If I had, I wouldn't be sitting here wondering why you were moaning in your office with her the other day. I wouldn't be sitting here drinking your cognac and wanting to punch you in the face._

Soon enough, Sookie and Adam returned. Worthington went to help sort Adam's candy out, and I took our glasses to the kitchen and spent a few minutes chatting with Thalia. Then I went in search of a restroom. When I came out, I heard Sookie's voice from the room directly across the hall. The door was only partially shut. "Of course I'll marry you." Followed by Worthington's delighted laughter.

I ran back into the bathroom and threw up my dinner.


	22. Chapter 22

After Adam and I helped Adam Jr. sort through his candy, the little man grabbed my hand and told me he had something very serious to ask me. He produced a little plastic ring with a candy on top and asked me to marry him. It was absolutely the cutest thing I'd ever heard, even if a small part of me twinged with pain at the memory it invoked.

I looked into the deep, brown eyes that were gazing at me, and said, "Of course I'll marry you." Adam's laughter was so delighted. "But maybe we should wait until you're a little bit older," I advised Adam Jr. He thought about it for a moment, then smiled, and ran out of the room. Adam and I looked at each other and laughed.

"He is completely smitten. Not that I blame him," Adam said, flirtatiously.

I blushed, but I knew he couldn't possibly be coming on to me. He was crazy about Thalia, but he also couldn't stop; he was a natural flirt. "Stop that! You're shameless, you know?"

"I know, I know. I can't help myself. Particularly around beautiful women. Smart, beautiful women. Who can bake. Seriously, those brownies you made the other day? You should sell those. Put Mrs. Fields to shame."

"Yeah. Couldn't tell that you liked it or anything," I teased. Seriously, I'd never heard someone moan so loud from chocolate. His reaction was almost sexual, and I made a point to give Thalia the recipe.

"You know," he continued, "he's not the only one."

I must have looked at him in confusion. "Seriously Sookie? You can't tell?"

I started feeling apprehensive. Adam was my friend, but he was also my faculty supervisor for my independent study program, and someone I thought of as a co-worker. I thought I had nothing to worry about, but this was quickly becoming awkward.

"Northman is completely taken with you." I stared at him mortified. _Had we been so obvious? Oh God, had we been loud?_ "Sookie? Are you really that blind?"

I laughed, partly to cover my feelings and also with relief that he wasn't talking about himself. "Umm, no but I think you're mistaken." I knew he was. If Eric had wanted me, I mean really wanted me for more than just sex, as more than just a conquest over other guys, he had plenty of opportunities to tell me. No, "taken with me" is not the phrase I'd use. "In lust with" or "dying to fuck," but not "taken with." I tried to smile at Adam, but it faltered slightly. "There's nothing between me and Eric." It was the truth. As it stood at that moment, there was nothing between us, nothing, but an ocean of frustration, pain, and unresolved sexual tension. "Anyway, I've got to get going soon, umm, can you give me a minute to put the final touches on my costume?"

"Sure, Sookie," he said, as he walked out. I could tell he wasn't buying it for a second, but thankfully he dropped the subject.

I stood in front of the mirror above the dresser, and put on my wig. Then I spent some time putting on my makeup, applying it like Amelia showed me. I pulled the jacket out of my bag, and slipped it on. I knew I wouldn't last long wearing it, not if we did any dancing, but it was part of the character. I slipped the already prepared tie over my head, and secured it under the collar of my shirt. I didn't really need my final prop just yet, but I thought Thalia would get a kick out of it. Twenty minutes after Adam left me, I walked downstairs, and into the kitchen.

Thalia started cracking up immediately. "Oh Sookie, that is perfect!"

Eric and Adam came to the door. Eric actually looked relieved, and Adam just looked puzzled. Thalia laughed at them. "Don't you guys get it?" she asked, pointing to the mace in my hand. When they shrugged their shoulders, she rolled her eyes and looked at me. I barely contained my giggle. "She's Gogo! You know, from _Kill Bill_!" She practically cackled as she said it. Thalia and I had grown rather close in the last few months, and I'd told her all about Bill. I knew she would appreciate the humor. I was looking at Adam and Eric, as she explained it, and saw Adam's face break into a big smile. Eric just continued to look me up and down, the expression on his face somewhere between relief and disbelief. I couldn't figure it out, but realized I probably would never understand the man. I kissed Thalia, said goodbye to Eric and Adam, and left.

I was heading to Felicia's annual Halloween party again. It was almost surreal when she invited Amelia and me. Claudine and I had a girls' night out planned. She asked if it was okay if Felicia came as well, and I laughed because I was just going to ask her if she had a problem with inviting Amelia. Tray was out of town, and Amelia was feeling down and lonely. I have to admit that I was a little nervous before we got there, knowing how close Eric and Felicia were, but I trusted Claudine. As it turned out, we had a fantastic time, and decided to go out again a week later. Before we knew it, our Thursday nights out had become nearly ritual.

What I call "The Library Debacle," took place a few days before our scheduled girls' night out, and I don't think I ever needed one as badly. Amelia had done what she could to cover up my puffy eyes, but it was obvious I'd been crying. Felicia seemed particularly mellow and sweet that night. After a little while, she invited all of us to her annual Halloween party. Immediately I tensed, thinking back to the prior year, and Eric, and I told her I wasn't sure if I'd be able to make it. Later, when I went to the ladies' room, she said she needed to go as well, and as we walked there together she said, "He isn't coming, if that's why you're hesitating."

"God, am I that transparent?"

"No, but he is. Sookie, he's . . ."

I cut her off. I really couldn't take listening to anything about him just then. "I'm sorry Felicia. I just . . . I just can't talk about him right now, okay?"

"Okay, chère, no problem."

We continued to the bathroom, did our business, and came back to the table. I suppose I had more than usual to drink. I think we all did. Our conversation turned decidedly . . . free.

"So then, he starts running around trying to find a condom, and it's bobbing up and down, and I just lost it." Claudine was practically in tears as she recounted the story, and the rest of us were following suit.

"No. I've got you beat," Amelia began. "When Tray and I were at his parents' house once, his mom walked in on us. We were mortified! She ran out, but a minute later, the door flew open again, and I swear to god the woman dumped a Sam's Club sized box of condoms on the bed before running out again! I thought Tray was going to bury himself in the floorboards."

We all burst out in another round of laughter.

"What about you, Sookie?" Claudine asked. "Any funny pecker poncho stories?"

I choked lightly on my drink. "Umm, no. I've never had to use one."

"What?" Claudine shrieked. "In this day and age? How could you not?"

I was so wasted at this point that it just sort of spilled out of me. "'Cause I can't get pregnant," I said, and proceeded to drain my glass dry. I looked up at my friends' faces, and was reminded why I never told anyone about this. I hated _that_ look.

"Are you sure, honey?" Amelia asked. "I mean there are all sorts of procedures these days . . ."

I cut her off. "I'm pretty sure you need a uterus for those procedures, Amelia," I said jokingly, trying to keep the situation from turning maudlin. They didn't laugh. "Sorry. It's just . . . I never really talked about this with anyone but my Gran, and my doctors and stuff."

Felicia looked at me and asked, "If you don't mind me asking, what happened?"

It was inevitable that I'd have to talk about it; I just didn't expect it to be right then and there, but as they say, there's no time like the present, right? Of course, that could have just been the alcohol talking.

I took a deep breath, and a swig of my newly refreshed drink. "My Gran had a brother, Bartlett. He uh . . . when I was six he started touching me, and when I turned eight he raped me, and he uh, caused a lot of damage," I said quickly before taking another gulp of margarita. I took a breath. "They had to remove my uterus, and I spent three weeks in the hospital."

"Jesus, Sookie," Amelia whispered.

"I'm sorry," Felicia said.

Claudine started to say something, but I cut in.

"Listen, it's fine. I mean, it's not 'fine,' but I dealt with it. I got therapy. I had a 'normal' childhood, and I don't have any sexual hang-ups. I just can't have kids. Which was just fine with Bill," I snorted. In retrospect, I was pretty sure that he was just happy he would never have to share me, even with his own children. "Anyway, I was monogamous with Bill, even if he wasn't. Obviously, I got tested after, and luckily, I was clean. Then Alcide and I got tested before we got intimate," and there my voice hitched slightly.

Even though Alcide's and my break up was mostly mutual, it was still incredibly painful, because we really did love each other. It just wasn't enough. We were trying to work through the logistics of a long distance relationship. He wanted me to leave school and come live with him, eventually get married, even go to school in France if I wanted. He didn't care that I couldn't have children; we would adopt, he said. I wanted to finish school where I was, paying my own way. He came to visit me a couple of months after London, and shortly after I began working with Claudine.

At first things were wonderful, and we were caught up in the high of seeing each other, and exploring each other's bodies once more. Then Eric came to the office. Not only did he look as beautiful as ever, but the son-of-a-bitch even remembered what coffee drink I liked, and all of my feelings for him—and doubts about Alcide—crashed down on me once again. I realized that as long as I had all those unresolved feelings about Eric, I could never give my whole heart to Alcide, and he deserved someone who could do that. We talked that night, and I told him how I felt. I didn't give him any details about Eric specifically, but I did tell him the truth about my feelings. He was hurt, but at the same time slightly relieved. Just before his trip to see me, Sophie-Anne had contacted him. She'd left Andre, the man she dumped Alcide for, and was hoping for a second chance. I could see the powerful pull she still had on him, despite how she broke his heart, and I let him go. If they could make a go of things, I wasn't going to stand in the way, not when I was so uncertain myself. I even took him to the airport. Our kiss goodbye was long, deep, and sorrowful. The entire thing was so very . . . French, that it could have been a Claude Sautet film starring Catherine Deneuve.

I put a smile on my face and said, "Anyway, those are really the only guys I've slept with, so to make an unbearably long story short, I have never had to use a condom."

I looked back at the faces of my friends, and found Felicia looking at me strangely, and then and there I realized that she knew about The Library Debacle. I felt my face flush as our eyes locked, and I silently cursed Eric for saying something to her. Thank goodness for Claudine because she barreled into another round of funny stories, effectively alleviating the heavy damper I'd put on things. We all continued to drink way too much, as if we needed to erase the awful things I'd dumped on everyone. I woke up the next day with a horrible hangover, and a serious case of I-Can't-Believe-What-Happened-Yesterday.

When I'd first run into Eric at the library, and felt the zing of electricity that always accompanied his touch, I marveled again at Fate. Somehow, she kept throwing us together. But Eric didn't say anything, and let me walk back to my table. It seemed he was clearly not interested in picking things up again. Still, I thought, there was no better time. I was no longer his student. I was no longer with Alcide, and Bill was a distant, horrible memory. However, it seemed that Eric didn't agree.

I got up to get another book, and as I was reaching for it, I felt him behind me. The heat of him, the smell of him, the sound of his voice, all set my body on fire. When he asked if I knew what I did to him, and told me that he was tired of waiting, I nearly came from his words alone. He took complete control, and it was incredibly hot. His fingers expertly, and quickly, brought me to orgasm, and I found myself quietly chanting his name, "Eric, Eric, Eric, Oh God, I love you, Eric." A moment of panic surged through me, as I realized I'd said it out loud, but then he was tasting me, and talking dirty to me, and all coherence fled. When he spun me around and began kissing me, a blur of lips, tongue, teeth, and hands, I thought he might be feeling the same way, and when he pushed inside me, I nearly cried at the perfection. Never had I felt so complete, and I rolled my hips, trying to generate even more friction. My fingers threaded into his hair, and his head leaned against mine, and it was everything. I never knew, never understood how incredible it could be. He filled me entirely. His thrusts were wild, desperate, and needy.

And then he started talking.

At first I heard him chanting "Mine, mine, mine," and it turned me on even more. He was making me his. He wanted me. All of me. I even thought that maybe, just maybe, he felt for me what I felt for him. But then he continued and brought up Bill and Alcide, and it hit me that this was just a competition for him. They'd both had me and he hadn't, so he was proving something. It wasn't me he wanted. His ego just needed stroking. He needed to be the alpha male. I began to cry, but when he uttered, nearly word for word, what Bill said the day he attacked me, I completely lost it. I pushed him away and yelled at him. I almost slipped and told him I had believed he had feelings for me, but caught myself at the last second. He didn't need to know I hoped for that. It would only further my embarrassment at letting myself be used that way, so I ran off.

I shook off the memories of that day, and that night with the girls, as I pulled up to the party. I made my way inside, and after a few minutes, I found Amelia and Claudine. Felicia was mingling and playing hostess. The theme for the party was Hollywood, and everyone had to come dressed as a character from a movie. Claudine was dressed as Tinkerbell, and I couldn't help but be reminded of my costume the previous year, which in turn led to an entirely different trip down Memory Lane. Amelia snapped me out of my reverie by asking how my evening went, and I just shrugged and said, "Fine. Adam had a blast." I didn't tell them Eric was there. I just didn't have it in me to talk about him. Then I told them both about Adam Jr.'s proposal with a Ring Pop, and they both ooh'd and ah'd appropriately. Amelia was dressed as Hermione Granger, which I found endlessly funny as she was always claiming to be a witch of some kind, but a child witch? Too rich.

We each got a drink, and then made our way around the room looking for Felicia. When we found her, we all cracked up. Felicia was dressed as Carmen Miranda, complete with the giant hat of fruit on her head. Of course she looked completely hot, but still it was a sight. For the next couple of hours we had a really wonderful time, drinking and dancing with each other. At first no guys even bothered to talk to me, but after a couple of dances, I got warm and took off the school uniform jacket, loosened the tie, and unbuttoned a couple of buttons on my shirt. Apparently the sight of two women dressed as school girls, dancing with Tinkerbell and Carmen Miranda, was just too much. Pretty soon we had a not so small gathering of men surrounding us, dancing with us, and generally grinding up against us whenever they could. It felt good. _I_ felt good, for the first time in a while. I felt free and sexy. It was easy and I was with my friends, and we were having a great time.

Since when is life ever so simple?

"What the fuck, Norrman?!"

I was dancing with some guy, my eyes closed, the music a living pulse in my body. I was fluid. I was warm. I was excited. And then I heard the shouting, and I was being pulled across the dance floor, while hearing Felicia's angry cry of, "Eric!" over the thumping baseline of the music.

I looked up to find him gazing at me intensely. His eyes were stormy as they ran over me, and I could see desire, anger, jealousy, and something else I couldn't quite place, battling there. I was so surprised to see him I said, "Eric? What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," he practically growled.

I was waging an internal battle. On the one hand, I was still angry with him for The Library Debacle, but on the other hand, something in his eyes was telling me to listen, while the place on my arm that he was gripping was fairly burning from the electricity that always seemed to pass between us.

"Jesus, Norrman. We don't see you for years, and then you show up and go caveman? What's wrong with you?" I looked over to see my former dance partner shouting at Eric. Who the fuck was Norrman?

"Not now, Clancy."

"You always were a prick, Norrman," Clancy said as he walked off.

"That was rude, Eric. We were dan . . ."

"Yes, I saw what you were doing. You were practically fucking him on the dance floor," he growled.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" I retorted. Seriously? Where did he get off?

He ran his hand through his hair and started muttering in Swedish. I hadn't heard him do that since that day in his office. He took a deep breath, "Please, can we just talk?"

"Fine," I huffed, and allowed him to lead me out of the main room we were in, and into the small lobby. "What do you want, Eric?"

"What do I want?" He laughed. "What do I want? What do I want?" he repeated as he paced the room. Finally, he stopped and looked at me. "What I want is to stop feeling this fire every time I'm around you. I want to stop worrying about you, and wondering what you're doing. I want to stop dreaming about you and thinking that you're making love to someone else. I want to stop these feelings I have for you, because I don't like having them and I don't want them, and because you can't possibly feel the same way, and even if you did, it would be a disaster, because I'm a disaster." He was frantic, babbling.

"I want you like I've never wanted anyone, and if I had my way, no other man would ever touch you, because you'd always be by my side, but at the same time I hate you for making me feel this way, for making me need you." He started pacing again, his hands gesticulating wildly.

"My life was ordered before you stepped into my class. I didn't need anyone, and I didn't want to. And then you came along and you knocked everything out of whack. You made me feel things I hadn't felt in nearly twelve years, things I didn't think I could ever feel again. I can't even have sex with anyone without thinking of you and imagining that I'm with you, and now I don't even _want_ to have sex with anyone else! Fuck, but you make me insane!" He looked at me, and I don't know what my expression was, but I'm pretty sure the words dumbfounded and stunned begin to cover it. Then he continued, "And I'm the most selfish creature on earth, because I can't possibly give you what you need, what you deserve, and even this . . . this confession is wrong because it's completely unfair of me to dump all this on you, because I can't . . . I can't _do_ this."

To say I was overwhelmed would be the understatement of the year. He was standing with his back to me, his chest heaving, and his forehead against the wall. I walked up to him and tentatively touched his shoulder. "Eric," I said. "Eric, look at me." But he refused to turn around. I walked around him and slid under his arm, with my back against the wall, forcing him to look at me. His eyes were wild. I reached out to touch his face and he flinched.

"Eric," I whispered, as I grabbed his face with both hands, "let me in. Please." And I pulled him to me, my lips seeking out his. I brushed against his mouth softly, the barest whisper of a kiss, then swept back, pressing harder against his lips. He was resistant, hesitant, scared. I ran my tongue lightly over his lower lip. "It's not just you," I whispered against his mouth. He groaned and parted his lips, his tongue flicking out to taste me, before he finally deepened the kiss. It was passionate, and filled with an emotion we'd never allowed ourselves to share before, but all too quickly, he broke it off. His eyes actually looked panicked and began to back away from me. "Eric?"

"I can't. God help me, Sookie. I'm so sorry." And he turned and fled.

I stood there stunned, still leaning against the wall, until I felt my legs giving way and I slid down to the floor. Felicia, Amelia, and Claudine came in just then.

"Sookie! What happened? What's wrong?" Amelia practically yelled.

I looked up at them. "I think," I began, "I think Eric just told me he loved me and dumped me all at the same time."

Claudine squealed. "He told you he loves you?"

I shook my head. "Not in those exact words. He said a lot of things, but I think that's what he meant." I stared at Felicia, "But maybe I'm wrong."

She sat down next to me. "I don't think you're wrong, Sookie, but it's complicated."

"So, uncomplicate things," Amelia retorted.

I put a restraining hand on Amelia. "It's okay. I think Eric is the one who needs to explain things, Amelia, not Felicia."

"Oh, the hell with this!" exclaimed Claudine.

"Claudine!" Felicia said with a warning.

"What? I can't stand it anymore! I can't stand watching the two of them moping around like this, when they're clearly crazy about each other. It's ridiculous!"

"It's not our story to tell, Claudine."

My eyes shot back and forth between them, trying to figure out what was going on. I felt like I was at a tennis match.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Amelia shouted.

"No, Amelia. Felicia's right. This is between me and Eric." I looked at Felicia. "Do you know where he is now? Where he would go?"

I saw Felicia hesitate, clearly not wanting to betray her best friend in any way, but Claudine stepped in and blurted out an address right there in the city. Felicia looked at her as if she would reprimand her, but then nodded her head in defeat.

I stood and said goodbye to them, went to get my things, and left. I pulled up to a townhouse in one of the most expensive sections of the city. _How the hell does a professor afford a house like this?_ I sat in the car for ten minutes, trying to work up the nerve to go to the door and knock. Finally, I took a deep breath. I reminded myself that I was a Stackhouse, and that Stackhouses are not cowards. Whatever happened, I could handle it.

I got out of the car, squared my shoulders, walked up the steps, and knocked on the door. It took a minute, but eventually the door was opened by a somewhat older woman wearing a maid's uniform. _Do people really do that? I thought it was just the in the movies,_ I wondered. She looked at me expectantly.

"Hi!" I began awkwardly. "Um, is Eric here?"

"Master Eric is not . . ." _Master Eric? Seriously?_

"It's alright, Sarah. That will be all for tonight," he said, dismissing her. I thought his voice sounded off. He looked at me for a moment, searching my face for something, and then stepped aside to let me in. I noticed a glass in his hand. He shut the door behind me then asked, "What are you doing here, Sookie?" Definitely off.

"I wanted to talk to you."

"So talk," he said, as he walked down the hall and into a room. I followed him into what was one of the most beautiful libraries I'd ever seen. He walked over to a table and refilled his glass. He looked at me, "Would you like one?"

"No. Thank you." That's when I realized what was wrong. He'd been drinking. Quite a bit from the sound of his voice. I should have recognized it sooner, given my time working at a bar, but I didn't expect it from him.

"So. What do you want?" He sounded so . . . put out. It was at such odds with the man who'd left me just over an hour before, after pouring out so much of his heart.

"I need," I began, and then hesitated, unsure of how to proceed.

"You need?" he all but sneered.

I shot him an angry look, defiant. "I need to know why you're running away from me. Why won't you give this, us, a chance? There's more than just the fact that we were teacher and student, I know there is. Eric, please." I pleaded. "Is it something I did? Have I done something wrong?"

"Are you going to be just like all the others, Sookie? Are you going to make this about you?" he asked harshly, but then softened it by saying, "It's not. It's never been about you. Not the way you think. I meant what I said. I'm no good for you. I'm damaged goods, Sookie. Go home."

"Eric, please. Please talk to me. Tell me what it is you're so afraid of."

His eyes narrowed. "You want to know? You really want to know? Twelve years ago, I gave my heart away. It was returned to me in tiny pieces. In . . . Indira came into my life, much like you, like a storm, a whirlwind, and she swept me away. I was overcome. I was delirious in my love for her. I lost all sense of who I was." He took another swig of his drink. "Two years later, shortly after I proposed, she put out a hit on my parents."

I gasped. "Oh, Eric!"

"Sounds like a bad movie, right?" he said with a derisive snort. "See, she didn't want to wait until my trust fund kicked in. She didn't want to wait until they died of natural causes for me to inherit their estate. She wanted it to be hers as soon as we were married." He drained his glass. When he looked at me again, I could clearly see the effects the whiskey was having on him.

I walked over to him. "Eric, I'm so, so sorry." I reached out my hand to stroke his face, but he caught it. He threw his empty glass, shattering it.

"Sorry? Do you want to see the aftermath of love, Sookie? The real, messy, horrible aftermath? C'mon, I'll show you." He grabbed my hand and began dragging me up the stairs.

He was scaring me. I wanted to know. I wanted to know everything about him, but his grip was so tight, and he seemed so angry, that I was terrified. We went down a long hallway, and stopped at a door.

"Here is what love buys you, Sookie." He flung the door open. There, in a hospital bed, was an elderly woman. Tubes were coming out of her from everywhere: a feeding tube, IV, catheter, cannula for oxygen, heart monitor, and a plethora of other medical equipment. Her face was horribly scarred from burns, and I could see the same on her hands. But despite everything, I could see Eric in her face: his lips, the shape of his brows, the slope of his nose, and the curve of his cheekbones. The woman was clearly his mother.

"Eric," I began, but I didn't know what to say. My heart broke for him. I turned to look at him, but it was like he wasn't really seeing me.

"They were going on a three month trip. My father loved to sail, and my mother loved my father, so she agreed to it. At first they thought it was a ruptured gas line, but further investigation proved that it had been deliberately cut. My father was below, and they say he was killed instantly. My mother had been on deck, and while that saved her life, she wound up burned over seventy percent of her body, and she's never regained consciousness." He turned to look at me. "Love did that, Sookie. If I hadn't been so damned in love with her, I would have seen her for what she was. Everyone else did, but I was blind. Love killed my parents, Sookie. I won't let it happen again."

He pulled me back out the door and led me down the hall, opening the door to another room—a bedroom, which I assumed was his. He pushed me against the wall and kissed me. It was hot, and he tasted like whiskey. Then he stepped back and began unbuckling his pants. "Is this what you want, Sookie? Is this what you came for? I hope so, because it's all I can give you."

I was horrified. How had this all gone so wrong? It was clear he was in pain, but this . . . this was not Eric. This was not the man I'd fallen in love with. Yes. Without doubt I'd fallen completely and irrevocably in love with him, but I could no more have sex with him at that moment than with Bill. He leaned forward, his arms on either side of me, his erection pressed against my stomach. "C'mon Sookie. Isn't this what you want? What we both need? Maybe if we just fuck already, we'll get it out of our system. Then you can go back to your little French boy, give him a passel of rug rats, and live happily ever after."

I let out a small sob. His words were deliberately cruel and cutting. I looked into his eyes and I saw so much pain and anguish, but his words . . . his words were too painful. I was still too raw.

"Fuck you, Eric!" I spat. "Fuck you up one side and down another, you miserable son of a bitch!" And I slapped him. "That," and I pointed down the hall toward his mother's room, "has nothing to do with love. That has to do with greed, but you? You are all about fear. You fucking coward. You've wrapped yourself in it so tightly you wear it like armor. Well, it isn't armor. It's an excuse. Do you think you're the only one who has been hurt in this lifetime? Do you think you're the only one who has had the word 'love' twisted and mutated for someone else's pleasure? Fuck you. I know all about how people twist the idea of love. So don't you lecture me about love. We," and I sobbed again, "we could have been magnificent, you stupid ass."

I didn't even hear the door shut behind me as I ran out. Maybe I'd left it open; I wasn't sure. All I knew was that I was half blind from my tears, and I could barely make out where I parked my car. I finally got to it, and was fumbling in my purse for the keys, when I heard someone behind me, and everything went black.

I don't know how much time passed before I woke up, but when I did, I was bound and in complete darkness. I felt movement, and thought maybe I was in the trunk of a car. I felt the panic descend on me. Tears sprang to my eyes unbidden, as memories I'd long ago buried surfaced and dragged me under. I was eight years old and hiding in the basement, the weak light of my flashlight the only thing keeping the darkness at bay.

"Sookie, honey, where are you?" I could hear Bartlett's voice as if he were next to me. It was slippery and raspy, like silk gliding on paper. "C'mon baby, where are you? C'mon out, Sookie. You know I love you. You know I want what's best for you." I could hear him coming closer, and I held my breath, praying to the God I'd abandoned when my parents died that he wouldn't hear me, wouldn't see the tiny, faint glow of my flashlight. But God had no place in the basement that day, and Bartlett did find me. I bit and I scratched and I kicked, but I was little, and he was so much bigger than I was. Finally, I tried to smash my flashlight against his head. All I succeeded in doing was plunging us into darkness. And in that darkness, my innocence was torn from me. Again and again and again, as he told me over and over and over how much he loved me.

I opened my eyes, desperate to stop the memories, and I began screaming. I screamed and screamed, until the car hit a pothole. I felt my head hit something, and then darkness descended once more.


	23. Chapter 23

I couldn't believe I was sitting on the floor of Worthington's bathroom, puking up my guts. How had I gotten to that place? Just over a year earlier, I'd been a content bachelor. I'd had my pick of women, and never wanted more than a night or two's company. I had no interest in a long term relationship, or intentions of settling down. I had enough on my plate. I'd been burned in the worst way, and was content to live my life on my terms. I had my teaching, which I was proud of. I had my academic writings, which I was even more proud of. I had an extended family, of sorts, whom I loved deeply. I had female companionship when I needed it. My life was set. It was ordered. It was calm.

Then Sookie entered my life, and in many ways, she resembled a hurricane. Her presence twisted and bent me in directions I never expected. She uprooted my staid life and its predictability, like so many trees in a storm. At the same time, she was like a tiny pebble tossed into a still pond, and the ripples continued to reach out and affect my life. It seemed like there wasn't a corner of my world that was no longer inhabited by her. But the truly terrifying aspect of this realization was that I wanted and needed her in every single one of those corners.

It scared the shit out of me.

I sat with my forehead against the cool porcelain and tried to understand how I'd come to that point. The entire evening had been one of frustration and confusion. I couldn't quite understand the relationship between Sookie and Worthington. On the one hand, he seemed utterly taken with his . . . what did I call her? Girlfriend? Baby momma? Partner? On the other, there was that day I overheard him and Sookie in the office, and the fact that they did not outright deny any sort of involvement with each other when Thalia joked about it. To add salt to the wound, Sookie was clearly mad at me for what took place in the library, and I couldn't blame her for it, but I also couldn't figure out how to make amends. Finally, and honestly, what she was wearing was driving me to distraction. Like it wasn't bad enough that we actually had been teacher and student; the reality is that an outfit like that is _every_ straight man's fantasy. My dick had been hard from the moment she walked into the kitchen.

I heard the door across the hall open and shut, which brought my mind back to what I'd just heard, and I threw up once more. Then I heard a knock at the door.

"Northman, you okay in there?"

 _Fuck._ I'd never been more embarrassed. "Yeah, fine. Be right out."

When I finally dragged myself out of Worthington's bathroom and made my way down the stairs, I found him waiting for me. He handed me a glass of soda, threw an arm over my shoulder, and dragged me back into his office. He sat down on one of the big, overstuffed chairs, and motioned for me to do the same.

He looked over at me. "Did I ever tell you about my wife, Amy?"

_His wife?_

The confusion must have been apparent on my face.

"Yes. My wife. Adam's mother." I shook my head slowly and took a seat in the chair next to him.

"She was my first research assistant."

Asshole that I was, I couldn't help myself. "And Thalia was your second?" _And now there's Sookie._

Worthington smirked at me. "No. That was Dawn. She's who Amy left me for."

I could admit a certain perverse interest in that story. What could I say? I was a man, after all.

"But I got Adam out of it, and Thalia is the only mother he's ever really known, so I can't complain too much. Unfortunately, I can't seem to wring a divorce from Amy, so Thalia and I continue to 'live in sin.' My point is, Eric, Amy was my assistant, and I married her, and it didn't destroy my career."

I had nothing to say to that, but he wouldn't be deterred.

"How long?" he asked.

"How long, what?" I replied, feigning ignorance, because I knew exactly what he was getting at.

"How long have the two of you been involved? And before you try to deny it, don't. I may not be quite as smart as you, Northman, but I'm not an idiot. You're so in love with the girl that you may as well hang a sign on your neck."

I was completely confused. Didn't he just ask her to marry him? For a moment I felt like throwing up again. I took a long sip of the club soda and closed my eyes.

"Northman, she's a good person. She's a wonderful girl. What are you doing? You're both miserable."

I opened my eyes and looked at him, one eyebrow raised.

"Seriously, Northman? Do you think I don't know why you were just puking in my bathroom?"

I felt my hands tighten into fists. He looked at me and my hands, and a smirk played across his face.

"Adam asked her to marry him, you giant ass."

_How did he know?_

My face must have betrayed my confusion. "I'm a father, Eric. We develop some sort of bizarre super hearing when we have kids. I heard you in the hallway right when she answered him, and then I heard you getting sick. I'm not a math professor, but even I know that one and one makes two, Eric. Plus, it's written all over your face."

I ran my hands over my face and muttered a quiet, "Fuck."

"You want to talk about it?"

Did I want to talk about it? No. "Listen, I should get going. . ." I began.

"You know about her ex, Bill, right?"

I felt my stomach clench, and I froze in my spot. "What about him?" I asked. I didn't want to say too much. I had no idea what Sookie had confided in him.

Sensing my reticence, he said, "I know what he did to her over Thanksgiving last year."

I nodded slowly, not wanting to remember the bruises on her neck. "You should have seen it," I whispered.

Worthington grimaced, but continued, "When she first got back from Italy and started working with me, he kept calling and harassing her. He finally accosted the two of us in my office. I had to call security to remove him, and he was expelled a week later. No formal criminal charges were brought, but Sookie had to file a restraining order against him. Thalia and I have sort of been looking out for her ever since."

I gripped my glass so hard I thought I might shatter it. Fucking Compton. I was glad he was gone from the school, and that Sookie had brought a restraining order against him, but he should have been behind bars. Anyone who could do that once would do it again. He was a sick son-of-a-bitch. "I'm glad she has the two of you," I said, fully aware of how completely I'd failed her.

"My point, Eric, was that when he accosted us, he said some things, which thankfully no one really paid attention to, but well, like I said, I'm not stupid."

"Thank you for your discretion," I replied.

"Fuck, Eric. I wasn't fishing for thanks." He fixed me with a hard stare. "Don't be an idiot."

"Duly noted," I said, trying to inject a bit of levity into the moment.

Just then we heard laughter, and went to the kitchen to see what happened. Sookie was standing there, admittedly more covered up than before, but now she was wearing a long, black wig and make-up to make her look Asian, and holding a plastic mace. I thought that the school girl thing _was_ her costume. I had no idea what this was.

"Don't you guys get it?" Thalia asked. "She's Gogo! You know, from _Kill Bill_."

I couldn't take my eyes off of her. On the one hand, I was incredibly relieved that she was no longer looking quite so much like a fantasy come to life. On the other hand, I was still reeling from everything Worthington had told me, and couldn't really believe she was making fun of the situation with Compton. Then she made her goodbyes and was out the door. I left shortly after she did, thanking Worthington and Thalia. I found myself actually hoping we could get together again, which, frankly, surprised me.

I drove off, and I couldn't stop thinking about Sookie, and about what Worthington had told me. Only my situation was so much more complicated than his. It wasn't merely that Sookie had been my student. No. I was realizing that fact was probably a mere blip on the radar of the issues we faced. The truth was, I didn't know if I was even capable of loving someone again. No. That wasn't exactly right. I knew I was in love with Sookie. I just didn't know if I could let someone love me. I didn't think I could let her in, that I could trust her with all of me. Just the thought of being exposed like that again sent me into a near panic attack, and I could feel my heart beginning to race. Yet, at the same time, I had this need to protect her, but even more than that, I _needed_ her. Even the few minutes I spent in her presence at Claudine's office, or at Worthington's, despite my frustration and confusion, had me just _feeling_ more than I had in months. Hell, her presence in my life had me feeling more than I had in years.

Fuck, but the woman was making me insane. I thought back to the previous year, and Felicia's Halloween party. I thought about how Sookie looked. I thought about how she danced. I thought about what would happen if she took off the jacket and looked like some barely legal, Japanese fuck-doll, and before I knew it, my car was heading in the opposite direction of my home.

I walked into the party without any clear idea of what I wanted, or was planning on doing. All I knew was that the entire evening had thrown my mind into turmoil. Seeing Sookie dressed like that, believing she and Worthington were involved, his knowing of our affair, knowing that Bill was threatening her, it all crashed around inside my head until all I could think of was seeing her, touching her, holding her, tasting her.

I headed straight for the edges of the dance floor, drawn to her. I could see a group of men dancing around the center of the floor, and as I broke through the crowd, I watched as Clancy, an old acquaintance, danced with Sookie. And I use the term "dance" loosely. Sookie was a vision of grace and sensuality, her movements radiating a raw sexuality that was attracting men to her like moths to a flame.

Clancy moved closer to her, his hips grinding against hers, his hands brushing over her body, touching her, wanting her, and it drove me mad, but still I watched. I watched as she turned slowly, her hips swaying, her beautiful ass pressing against him. His arms wound around her waist and pulled her back up against his chest, and her head fell back against his shoulder as she sinuously moved against him. Her hands travelled up her body, lightly grazing her own curves, until they were up in the air, wrists and fingers twisting and moving like a snake charmer.

She made my blood boil. Desire, anger, jealousy, all ripped through me like a steam engine, until all I could hear was the deafening rush of blood in my ears. The music was suddenly far away, and I had only one thought: _mine_. It was brutish and primitive, but it came from the core of my being. I could not stand the sight of his hands on her for another second, and without another thought, I shoved my way through the crowd of onlookers, wrapped my hand around her arm, and began to pull her off the dance floor. Somewhere in the back of my brain, I registered Felicia's voice calling my name, and then Sookie looked at me, and her gaze brought me back to the moment.

"Eric? What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Looking for you," I spat out, and I think I actually growled at her.

Then Clancy was in my face, yelling at me and calling me a prick, but I brushed him off. Now that he was away from her, he was nothing to me.

"That was rude, Eric. We were dan-"

Dancing? "Yes, I saw what you were doing. You were practically fucking him on the dance floor," I snarled at her, my primitive caveman making an appearance.

Her next words spanked my inner-Neanderthal into submission. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" Her eyes sparked with anger.

I found myself running my hand through my hair and muttering a string of obscenities in Swedish, before calming down and asking her if we could talk. I led her out of the room, and she agreed, unhappily, to hear me out, asking me what I wanted.

Then the word vomit began, and I couldn't make it stop. I was crazed and, I think, incoherent. I was definitely babbling, but as I was pouring out my feelings, I looked at her, and saw shock and disbelief on her face. Then the panic set in again. I had just opened myself up completely, and it scared the shit out of me, so I tried to backpedal and tell her that none of what I said really mattered, because I just couldn't do it. I couldn't do whatever it was between us, whatever we were. I was just too fucking broken.

The adrenaline pumping through my system was making it difficult for me to breathe, and I leaned my head against the cool, stone wall, desperately trying to catch my breath. I needed to leave. I had to get out of there. But then she was touching me and talking to me, and I couldn't look at her. I had to get my breathing under control. And then she was in front of me, and my breathing became erratic again, the panic settling in once more. _Too close_ , my brain screamed, while my body and heart screamed, _closer still!_ Then she grabbed my face, begging me to let her in, and brushed her lips against mine. I tried to hold back, to deny her, because it was denying myself as well, and I didn't deserve her.

"It's not just you," she whispered.

What wasn't? The feelings? The terror? The fact that I was an emotional wasteland?

But her lips were insistent, and my heart and body won the battle. For a brief and shining moment we melded together, lips and tongues moving in perfect synchronization, as if made for one another. And I was touching her, holding her, tasting her, and she was everything, but I was a coward. I broke away.

"Eric?"

"I can't. God help me, Sookie. I'm so sorry." And I fled.

I should have gone to my house, but instead I went to the townhouse, because it was closer, and all I wanted was a place to hide. I found sanctuary in my library, and meager solace in a bottle. Sarah tried to get me to drink some tea instead, God bless her, but I snapped and told her I just wanted to be left alone.

I sat. I paced. I drank. I ranted to myself. How could I have said those things to her? How could I expose myself like that? How could she possibly feel anything for me? I didn't want her to. I wanted her to hate me, because then I could blame something other than my own fears. I needed her to stay away from me, because I sure as fuck seemed to be unable to stay away from her. I went around and around in my mind, until I heard the doorbell. I wandered out into the hallway, curious as to who it could be, but froze when I heard her voice. How the fuck did she find me?

I heard Sarah trying to get her to leave, knowing I was inebriated, but my mouth began moving before my brain could stop it. "It's alright, Sarah. That will be all for tonight," I said, dismissing her. I looked at Sookie, then asked her what she was doing there. She followed me into the library. She wanted to talk. I offered her a drink, which she declined, and as she tried to start the conversation, I pretty much acted like a complete prick. She was begging to know what she had done, why I was running from her. I was an asshole, although for a moment I faltered and tried to convince her to stay away from me, telling her I was no good for her, but she was so fucking insistent.

I snapped.

She wanted to know? I would show her. So I told her everything. I told her about Indira, and how loving that woman destroyed my life. I showed her the consequences of loving someone so hard and so deeply that you could lose everything that was important.

She was aghast, and yet—I still wanted—no, needed—her to hate me. That was when inspiration hit. I could make sure that she did.

I pulled her to my room and roughly pushed her against the wall, kissing her, and oh God, her mouth nearly derailed my plans. So soft and warm, and sugar sweet. But instead, I propositioned her, and in a deliberately cruel manner, I stuck in the proverbial knife and twisted it.

"C'mon, Sookie. Isn't this what you want? What we both need? Maybe if we just fuck already, we'll get it out of our system. Then you can go back to your little French boy, give him a passel of rug rats, and live happily ever after."

I don't know what I expected her to do after that. All I know was that I'd seen an opportunity and seized it. But oh, how she called me on it, and she slapped me! She took me to task for my cowardice, but her next words tore me up. "Do you think you're the only one who has been hurt in this lifetime? Do you think you're the only one who has had the word 'love' twisted and mutated for someone else's pleasure? Fuck you. I know all about how people twist the idea of love. So don't you lecture me about love."

I hated thinking of her being hurt, despite the fact I was doing exactly that, but my whiskey-soaked brain could only think of stopping us, of making her run from me. And yet, something in her words tickled my brain. She didn't say she knew how "someone" could twist the idea of love. She said "people." As in plural. As in, someone other than just Bill had hurt her in some way, and it tore at my heart, because she should be treasured. Wasn't that why I was pushing her away? So she could find someone to love her like she deserved to be loved?

As my mind tried to play catch up, I heard her sob and say, "we could have been magnificent, you stupid ass," before she ran out.

It was what I wanted. I wanted her to run as far from me as possible.

So why were my feet moving? Why was I running to the door? I stumbled on the stairs, and as my head spun I regretted all the whiskey, but I got to the door and flung it open, in time to see Sookie being shoved into the trunk of her car.

"SOOKIE!" I screamed. I ran forward, and watched in horror as Bill Compton turned to look at me, smiled, and mouthed, "mine," before jumping into the driver's seat and taking off.

My yells brought Sarah running, and through the alcohol induced haze, I managed to get a call to 911, and had Sarah call Felicia and Claudine.

By the time the police arrived, Sarah had a cup of coffee in my hand, but the events themselves had gone a long way toward sobering me up. I was in the middle of telling the police what happened, when Felicia arrived, with Claudine and Amelia in tow, which was a godsend, because Amelia knew enough personal information about Sookie to enable the police to get Sookie's license plate number and put out an APB on her car. All I'd managed to see was that it was blue.

I was shaking with incompetent rage, fear, and desperation. I felt useless, and guilt consumed me. I had sent her running out into the night, carelessly, and into the arms of a madman. If anything happened to her, I would never forgive myself.

I overheard the police talking to Amelia. "All of those cars come equipped with OnStar. Do you know if hers was activated?"

"Yes. She just reactivated it." Then she proceeded to tell the police about the restraining order, and Sookie's history with Bill.

Within minutes, the police were tracking Sookie's car, and the detectives and two uniformed units were scrambling to get into their cars. I wanted to go with them, but they wouldn't let me, telling me in no uncertain terms to stay put. Did they really think I would?

Fuck that.

I picked up the phone, pulled a card from my wallet, and dialed.

"Davis," said the voice on the other end.

"Stan? It's Eric."

Stan Davis was a special agent with the FBI. Ten years ago he was a rookie agent, and he and his partner were in charge of investigating my parents' case. He was smart, friendly, and knew when not to push me. Despite the insanity of the events back then, we'd become friends in a way, and over the years had kept in touch.

"Norrman! Excuse me, _Northman_ , how are you?"

"I need a favor, Stan."

"What's wrong?" Stan knew me well.

I explained the situation in shorthand, but emphasized my need to be there.

"Give me ten minutes."

Eight minutes later, the phone rang. In no time, Felicia, Amelia, and I were in Felicia's car, following Stan's instructions. Claudine, after an argument, agreed to stay behind to handle the police.

Stan was on the phone with me, feeding us directions. He was monitoring the police, as well as following the GPS locator. Although they had a head start, we soon caught up to them. We reached an industrial park and quickly found Sookie's car, but saw that the trunk was open, and she was no longer inside. My heart was hammering in my chest. I thanked Stan and hung up the phone.

Terror twisted my insides, and I began to run toward the warehouse the car was parked in front of, screaming Sookie's name. Almost immediately, two officers grabbed me and started pulling me back.

One of the detectives approached me. "Mr. Northman! What are you doing here? How the hell did you-"

I cut him off. "Where is she?"

He looked at me, and whatever he saw in my face made him stop lecturing me and start talking. "He's got her inside the building. He says that he has a gun, and that he'll kill her if we try to come in. So just . . . just stay here, okay?"

I nodded at him, while every fiber in my being screamed at me to run into the building. I needed to see her, to hear her voice . . . I needed to know that she was okay. She had to be okay. I needed to tell her I was wrong. I needed to tell her that she was right; I was a coward.

Felicia and Amelia were by my side, and Amelia was tucked into Felicia's shoulder, sobbing. I heard yelling, Compton's yelling, and I heard Sookie's voice, although I couldn't make out what she was saying. Then I heard a sickening crack, and everything was quiet.

Maybe if I hadn't been drinking earlier in the evening, I would have thought my next actions through a little better. Maybe if I hadn't been drinking we wouldn't have been in that situation to begin with, since I probably wouldn't have cruelly sent her running from the house. Maybe if I hadn't been drinking, I would have welcomed her with open arms. and instead of being where we were, maybe we would have been making love in front of the fireplace. Maybe . . . maybe . . . maybe.

If wishes were fishes, we'd all cast nets.

I looked at Felicia, kissed her on the cheek, and walked toward the building. The police were all busy in a flurry of activity, and waiting for the hostage negotiator to show up. No one was paying attention to me. By the time they saw me, I was ten feet from the building. Someone shouted, but I quickly jogged to the entrance and slipped inside.

They were right there when I walked in. Sookie was on the ground, a large bruise forming on her face, and blood was dripping from a cut just under her eye. Her clothes were disheveled and dirty, but she was in one piece. I felt such relief at seeing her that I nearly sank to my knees.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the professor himself," I heard Compton say. I looked over at him. He was pointing a gun at Sookie, but his eyes were trained on me.

"Bill, what are you doing?" I asked.

"Oh, so it's 'Bill' now, is it? What? We're friends now, _professor?_ " he sneered at me.

"Bill, c'mon. This has gone on long enough," I said, trying to talk him down, hoping that he could still see reason. "The police are here. What are you going to do? Look at her, Bill. Sookie is scared. You're scaring Sookie, Bill." I kept repeating her name, praying that it would help him see her as someone, and not just something.

"Good," he seethed, "she should be scared. The fucking slut. Look at her! Dressed like a whore. Did she dress like that for you? You into that sort of thing? Schoolgirls? Fucking her in your office wasn't enough; you needed her to dress the part?" He turned to look at Sookie. "You slut. Your gran would roll in her grave now if she saw you. Dressed like a tramp and spreading your legs for the likes of him."

I slowly moved forward as his attention was on her, but he was getting angrier, and I needed him to focus on me. "Don't talk to her like that," I hissed.

He turned the gun on me. "Don't tell me what to do! I'll talk to her any fucking way I please. She's mine! I _earned_ her! I put up with her idiot of a brother for a year to get close to her. I even overlooked the fact that she was already spoiled when I finally took her. Spoiled and damaged. But I loved her so much," he was ranting and pressing the heel of his hand against one of his eyes.

I flicked my eyes to Sookie while he was talking, and she was still on her knees, her arms wrapped around herself protectively, eyes wide with fear, and she was staring at Bill.

His eyes followed mine and trained back on her. "God, I loved you, Sookie. Even though you're damaged." I saw her flinch as he said this. His eyes flicked between us. "Did you tell him about Bartlett? About how you always pretend to be so innocent? You never were, though, were you?"

Sookie blanched at his words, and tears streamed down her face. "Please don't, Bill," she pleaded with him. "Please don't do this."

"I didn't do this, you did. This is all your fault. You are mine, Sookie. I thought I made that clear last year, but no, you had to run off. Just how many men did you take between those beautiful legs of yours while you were gone, Sookie? Was it just Alcide? And since you've been back? Two professors, Sookie? More?" He stalked towards her once more.

"Bill, there was no one else. Just Alcide, I swear. Nothing was going on with me and Adam!"

He backhanded her across the mouth. "Shut up!"

"Son of a bitch," I growled as I moved toward her. Bill swung the gun at me, bringing me up short.

"Don't even think about, Northman."

From outside, we could hear the sounds of the police, and then someone on a speaker was talking to Bill, trying to get him to surrender, but it just served to agitate him more.

"C'mon, Bill," I said. "There's nowhere to go. Let's walk out of here. I'll walk out with you," I said as calmly as I could.

He looked at me then. There's a certain look that crosses someone's face when they realize they're trapped, and there's no escape. It's calm, almost peaceful. I remember seeing that look on Indira's face when the FBI finally came to arrest her. But the calm façade belies the inevitable course of action. When Davis took out his cuffs all those years ago, Indira had looked at me the same way Bill was looking at me just then, and then she had taken the letter opener from the desk and stabbed herself in the throat.

I knew what he would do before he even started moving. "NO!" I screamed, as he started to raise the gun and point it at Sookie. It didn't take more than a millisecond, but in that infinitesimal amount of time, I realized several things. I realized that I'd spent too much of my life being afraid. I realized that I loved Sookie, irrevocably. And I realized that I was going to do anything to protect her. My mind had already ordered my body into motion before that last thought consciously manifested itself.

The sound of the gun was strangely muted. Perhaps it was the adrenaline surging through my body, or the fact that my entire being was focused on her; I had no idea. All I knew was that I had her in my arms, pulled tightly to me. Then there were more sounds, and more gunshots as the police burst in. Voices were yelling, and I heard screaming. I looked down and saw that it was Sookie screaming.

"Ssshhh," I said. "It's okay. I've got you. I won't let him hurt you anymore." Her hand lifted to my face, and it felt sticky. I looked and saw blood all over it. "Oh God! No! You're bleeding." And I tried to move her and see where she was hurt.

"Eric," I heard her say, "Eric, honey, it's not mine. You're hurt. You need to let them help you." She pushed me back gently, and as I lay down, I saw the blood on my shirt.

"Shit," I muttered, as I felt hands begin to work on me. I looked up and saw the paramedics. "Sookie, I'm so sorry," I started saying, but the paramedics were trying to put an oxygen mask on my face, and she shushed me.

"Later, Eric. You can tell me later."

Then I was being lifted onto a gurney and moved into a waiting ambulance. I flitted in and out of consciousness, vaguely registering Felicia's presence. I tore the mask off my face. " _M_ _a petite crotte_ ," I whispered.

" _Oui, mon chou_?"

"Tell her I'm sorry, okay? She has to know that I'm sorry."

"You'll tell her yourself, okay? Now hush, and let them take care of you," she said as she replaced the oxygen mask. And the world went dark.

I don't know how long I was out, but when I came to, I was in a hospital bed.

"Eric," Felicia said. "Ah, you finally decided to grace us with your presence, did you?" she teased, but when I looked in her face, I saw relief.

"How long?" I asked.

"About sixteen hours."

"Sookie?"

"She's fine, thanks to you. A concussion, a few bruises, inside and out, but she's tough; she'll be okay. They're keeping her overnight just to make sure."

"What happened? I mean, I know I got shot, but . . ."

"You are a lucky bastard, do you know that? You got hit in the back when you dove on Sookie. It entered between your shoulder blade and spine, and passed through your chest, and somehow avoided hitting any major organs. You were in surgery for a couple of hours, and you won't be able to use your left arm for a while, and then you'll need some rehab, but you'll live."

"And Compton?"

Felicia grimaced. "He's back in surgery. He took three shots to the chest when the police stormed the warehouse. He came out of surgery a few hours ago, but apparently he started bleeding again, and they took him back in. It doesn't look good." She took a deep breath. "Would you think me a horrible person if I said I hope he doesn't make it?"

I looked at her and shook my head. "Unless it makes us both horrible people," I told her. "The things he said to her, Felicia . . ." I trailed off, as pain spiked through me, and I gritted my teeth.

"I'll get the nurse," she said.

After the nurse arrived, and the doctor came to double check on me, and the Percocet kicked in, I fell back asleep. When I woke up, it was dark outside. Niall was in the chair by my bed.

"Eric, my dear boy, it's good to see you awake."

"Niall, how long have you been here?"

"A few hours. Felicia left to go to your house and help with your mother."

"You didn't need to sit here, Niall. I'm sure you have things to do."

"Nothing that won't keep. Besides, the press is outside, and I'm not keen on talking to them just yet."

I groaned. Of course the press would catch wind of the story. My family name embroiled in another sordid tale was too good to pass up. I just hoped Niall could manage to keep the school out of it.

"Niall, I'm sorry . . ."

"Oh hush, Eric. You have nothing to be sorry about. At least to me," he said, and the admonishment was clear. He continued, "I'd had a little hope for you at Thanksgiving."

I felt myself tense as the conversation took a turn I wasn't exactly comfortable with yet.

"But then you both left the country . . ."

"Niall," I began, "she was my student at the time." I ran my good hand through my hair. "What happened between us was wrong. I didn't think I could maintain a relationship with her, even if I had wanted to then, and I never wanted to put you in that position."

He looked back at me then, his eyes a bit watery, and then he asked, "Do you know why I never remarried?"

I shook my head. I'd always just assumed that after his wife died, he'd chosen to remain alone.

"Claudia and I married as soon as I graduated college, and she got pregnant a year later with Fin. Claudia died giving birth to him."

I hadn't known that. I knew he was a widower, but he'd never shared the details, and truth be told, I'd never asked, afraid it would be too painful to talk about. That was something I could understand.

"I did my best with Fin, but I was a single father at a time when that was not commonplace. My own mother helped where she could, but she was getting on in years, and then she too passed away. Still, I managed to complete my post-graduate studies, and began to teach. My second year, I had a student that I thought would be the death of me. She was beautiful and smart. She challenged me at every turn, and I fell in love with her instantly. I was like a man possessed. No matter how I tried to stay away from her, I couldn't."

I understood Niall perfectly at that moment. Sookie had similarly possessed me completely.

"I won't go into all the details," he continued, "but Adele and I were together once, and then I panicked. I was afraid of what people would say. I was afraid of losing my job. How would I take care of Fin if I was unemployed? So, like the coward I was, I pushed her away. She left school after that, and it was a long time before I saw her again, but it gnawed at my heart the entire time. I tried to ignore the feelings she aroused in me. I tried to move on, to see other women, but no one else came close, and no one could make me forget her. After a few years, I finally realized that I had to find her and try to make things right, consequences be damned. I managed to convince a young secretary to let me into the records room. I looked at her file, tracked down her home address, and immediately drove to see her. I didn't know what I could say to win her back, but I had to make it up to her. I had to tell her how wrong I'd been, how much I loved her and needed her.

"I pulled up to the house, and I saw her outside. My heart soared. She looked even more beautiful than I remembered. Her hair shone in the sunlight, creating a golden halo, and her body and face had the beauty and sensuality of a woman. She'd always been beautiful, but when we were together she'd been almost coltish, still so young. As I watched her hanging the wash, I felt myself respond to the woman she'd become. Then I saw two little children come running out of the house, screaming and hiding between her legs as a man gave chase. He ran up to the three of them, and they all started laughing. He pulled her close and kissed her, and she smiled up at him, happy. That's when I realized he was her husband, those were her children, and I had lost her for good. I can't begin to tell you how it felt, and you'll pardon me if I don't want to. The point is, Eric, I lost my chance. I had happiness in my hand, and I let pride and fear take it from me. Don't let them take it from you."

I rubbed my forehead as I contemplated Niall's story. Coupled with recent events, it showed me that I'd wasted a ridiculous amount of time being afraid. I think I had valid reasons for protecting myself once, but I wasn't just protecting myself anymore, I was hiding.

"Niall, when I get out of here, I've got a lot of making up for lost time to do. Mainly, I've got to figure out how to properly apologize for being a consummate ass."

"Eric, you took a bullet for the girl. I think she'll forgive you," Niall said, smiling.

"Maybe so, Niall, but I have to say it anyway. I said some horrible things to her, and I need her to believe that I really didn't mean them."

He smiled at me, and then I asked, "What happened after you saw her that day? Did you ever speak to her?"

"No. I never approached her, and I never spoke to her. I didn't want to disturb the happiness she'd clearly found. I think, however, that I took out my melancholy on Fin. I was never abusive, but time has taught me that disinterest is the same thing. He reminded me too much of what I had lost—first Claudia, and then Adele. I sent him to boarding school. It should have been no surprise to me that he turned to drugs. It is a failing of mine that I will always have to live with. If I had been a real father to him, perhaps he wouldn't have begun using. Still, imagine my surprise when on the day of his funeral, a young girl came to me, thrust a baby in my arms and told me it was Fin's. She didn't give me her name, or the baby's; she just ran. I tried to track her down, but none of Fin's friends had a clue who she was. I had the baby blood typed, and it matched his, which confirmed what the girl told me. Plus, she had Fin's eyes. I named her Claudine, for Fin's mother, and I swore then and there, at his gravesite, that I would do right by his daughter, even though I'd failed him.

"Eric, I lost so much because I was afraid. Don't be afraid to love her. You both deserve some happiness."

I was incredibly touched that Niall shared his story with me. While I'd always known that he was a widower, and that his son had died of an overdose, I'd never known the entirety of the circumstances. All Claudine had told me was that after her father died, her mother gave her to Niall to raise. However, hearing about Adele suddenly put so many things into perspective. It helped me understand his quiet persistence in pushing Sookie and me together, and it also helped solidify my intention not to waste another minute fighting against Fate.

We talked a little longer, but soon the nurse came in and made Niall leave, insisting that I needed to rest. I fell asleep dreaming about Sookie and all the ways I was going to beg for her forgiveness, and try to win her back. I hoped she would stop by before she was released, so I could start apologizing for everything I did to push her away.

When I woke up in the morning, Felicia was there. "Good morning, sleepyhead," she said.

"'Morning," I grunted, never having been a morning person.

She pointed to the cup of coffee on the bedside table. I quirked an eyebrow. "Don't look at me," she said. "Claudine brought it by when she picked up Sookie."

"Sookie left already?" I felt my heart sink a little.

"About an hour ago. She left this for you," Felicia said as she handed me an envelope.

I asked Felicia to open it for me, and she pulled out a letter and handed it to me.

_Dear Eric,_

_I wanted to tell you how thankful I am for what you did for me, and yet I find now that words fail me. It's ironic, isn't it? The two of us love words so much, and yet with regards to each other, we never seemed to be able to find the right ones. We managed to leave so much unsaid for so long, unable or unwilling to say what we felt while we had the chance, that I now find myself completely at a loss for words._

_I'm sorry for the chaos I brought to your life. I never should have propositioned you that day in your office. Do not mistake me, I regret nothing that took place between us, except for the hurt I brought you. It was never my intention to create such upheaval in your life, and I hope that eventually you can forgive me. I hope you can find the peace you once enjoyed before I set foot in your class, and that one day, you may look back on this time and, somehow, remember me fondly._

_I also hope that someday you find someone special enough to remind you to live life again. You have so much to offer, Eric, if you'd only allow yourself to take that risk. In the immortal words of Herrick:_

_W_ _HILE_ _Fates permit us let's be merry,_  
Pass all we must the fatal ferry ;  
And this our life too whirls away  
With the rotation of the day.

_Be merry, Eric._

_Always,_

_Sookie._

I put the letter down, looked at Felicia, and asked, "Where is she?"

Felicia sighed. "She doesn't want to see you, Eric."

"Bullshit, Felicia. I need to see her. I need to explain."

"Explain what, Eric? I think you did enough explaining the other night. She got the message. I don't know exactly what you said, but apparently you were quite convincing. She's already asked Niall, and he authorized it, for permission to take her last credits next semester as additional independent study. You won't even have to bump into her on campus."

I started pulling out the IV from my arm, and with a grunt because it fucking hurt, I swung my legs over the side of the bed.

"Eric! What are you doing?"

"I'm going to find Sookie. With your help, or without it, although I'd really fucking prefer it if you helped."

"Eric, you're in no condition to leave the hospital."

"Felicia, I'm going to get the woman I love. Now, are you going to help me or not?"

She stood and stared at me for a moment. "Are you sure, Eric? Because I really like Sookie, and if you're just going to fuck with her head some more, I'm not going to help you do it. Let her have a clean break, Eric."

"Felicia, I've never been surer of anything in my life. I need her, and I love her, and even if she wants nothing to do with me ever again, she needs to know that, but I'm going to do everything, anything, to get her back. So, are you going to help me?"

A huge grin broke out on Felicia's face. "It's about time, _connard_. Let's go get your girl."


	24. Chapter 24

I woke to the feel of someone caressing me. I opened my eyes and saw Bill running his hands down my body, his face sad and far away. "Bill?" I asked, still groggy and trying to understand what happened. As soon as he heard my voice and realized I was awake, his eyes hardened, and his grip became rough as he yanked me out of the trunk. "Bill, what are you doing?"

"Shut up!" he snarled at me and dragged me toward a nearby building.

Fully awake at that point, I realized exactly what Bill was doing, and there was no way in hell I was going to go easily. I dug my heels in and pulled against him. I did _not_ want to go into that building. At least outside, there was a chance someone might hear us, but in there? So I fought, and yelled at him, and in burst of adrenaline, I actually managed to pull my arm free and started to run. I made it about ten steps before he got a hold of my hair, and viciously yanked me back. I screamed, and he punched me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me and effectively silencing me as well. He dragged me by my hair into the building and threw me to the ground.

"Bill," I gasped, hoping somehow to reason with him. "Bill, why are you doing this?"

"Shut up, slut! I saw you!" he accused, his eyes wide and wild. "I saw you go from one of them to the other tonight. First Worthington, and then Northman."

"You were following me?" I asked, horrified more by that concept than by the accusations he was slinging at me.

"Did you really think some piece of paper was going to keep me from you, Sookie? You. Are. Mine," he emphasized, and then grabbed my hair and kissed me roughly.

I wasn't about to be a victim, however, not again. I bit his lip, hard. "Fuck you, Bill! I am not yours—" but before I could continue, I heard the unmistakable crunch of tires on gravel, car doors slamming, and the police shouting and telling Bill to give up, that it was over. A momentary surge of relief coursed through my body, but it was short lived.

"Go away!" Bill screamed at them. "I have a gun!" And sure enough, he pulled one out of his jacket pocket. I felt my heart try to beat its way out of my chest. I closed my eyes. _This isn't happening. This isn't happening. This isn't happening._ But it was.

I heard Bill muttering, "Fuck, fuck, fuck," and opened my eyes to see him pacing.

A minute later, I heard Eric shouting my name. Bill rounded on me. "I will kill him before I let him touch you again, Sookie. You know that, right? I always protect you, Sookie. I made sure Bartlett paid for what he did to you, didn't I?" I gasped. "What? You didn't know, sugar?"

I was stunned. About six months after Bill and I got together, Bartlett, who had been released from prison a few years earlier, was the victim of what police called a home invasion robbery. Of course, no one knew why someone would break in to Bartlett's house—he had nothing worth stealing—but the police weren't too keen on investigating why a convicted child rapist was killed, and the matter was eventually dropped.

"Oh Jesus, Bill! Oh my God. Oh my God." Bill killed Bartlett. Bill. Killed. Bartlett. Don't get me wrong, Bartlett got what he deserved, but I spent the next two years loving and sleeping with a murderer. I had no clue. I thought I'd been deluded about him when he attacked me last Thanksgiving, or accosted Adam and me shortly after I returned from my time abroad, but this? This was beyond the pale. Who was this man? And what did it say about me that I could spend all that time with him and have no clue? I shuddered and then groaned, "Oh, Bill, how could you?"

"How could I? He defiled you, Sookie. You were mine. You were always meant to be mine, and he touched you. He took what should have been mine to take. Just like him," he seethed and pointed outside.

At first his words cut me. They made me feel filthy. They made me feel like that little girl again. Hurt and scared and ashamed. But when he threatened Eric, something in me snapped. Eric was a mess, and he hurt me beyond words, but God help me, I still loved him, and the thought of him being hurt, and because of me, was something I couldn't begin to comprehend.

"Don't you fucking touch him, Bill Compton! So help me, Bill, if you hurt him. I will–"

"You'll what, Sookie?" he cut me off. "Tell me what you think you'll do. Did you forget that _I'm_ the one in control here?"

Before I could stop myself, I snorted, "You think you're in control here, Bill? You're just a scared little boy with gun!" I admit that antagonizing the crazy man with the gun was probably not my best move, but I was feeling a little crazed myself at that point.

The next thing I knew, I felt blinding pain and heard the cracking sound of metal breaking open skin, as Bill hit me across the face with the gun. I think I may have passed out for a bit, because I came to on the floor, but after a moment, I forced myself to a sitting position. My hand came to my face, and I winced.

"See what you made me do?" Bill spat at me while pointing the gun at my face.

I decided at that point that discretion was the better part of valor and kept my mouth shut, and hoped that the police could resolve this before Bill killed me, or worse.

And then Eric decided to play hero, and slipped into the building. My heart at once jumped for joy, singing _he came for me_ , while at the same time it despaired, _oh God, Bill is going to kill him._ I knew then and there that nothing good would come of the situation, and fervently prayed that the police would storm the building, or that S.W.A.T. would take Bill down, or any other of a myriad of rescue scenarios I'd seen on thousands of crime procedurals. Where was Gibbs? Where were Benson and Stabler? With my luck, I was going to get Grissom, and you know what that means, right?

Eric tried talking to Bill. I could see what he was doing. He was trying to appeal to Bill's humanity, to the part of him that loved me once. Trying to make him see me as a person, to humanize me. It wasn't working.

The things Bill was saying. He'd plotted my seduction. He used my brother to get to me. But the worst, the worst was when he said I was spoiled and damaged. He said it in front of Eric. Eric, who knew nothing about Bartlett or my past. I couldn't help but wrap my arms around myself, as if it would keep me from shattering. And then he mentioned Bartlett by name, and accused me of pretending to be innocent. He used my worst fears and memories against me, trying to drive a wedge between Eric and me, not knowing that we'd already managed to do that to ourselves.

"Please don't, Bill," I begged him, crying. "Please don't do this."

But all Bill could muster were more insane accusations, accusing me of being a whore. When I tried to defend myself, he hit me again, and Eric tried to intervene, but Bill swung the gun on him, and I felt my stomach drop. I was afraid to say anything. Afraid that whatever I did or said would give Bill a reason to shoot Eric, and I couldn't allow that to happen. Not for my sake.

When the police started talking to Bill again through the bullhorn, I had a quick flare of hope that somehow we'd get through this unscathed. Eric tried to reason with Bill once more as well, but then I saw the look on Bill's face, and I knew. I closed my eyes and waited for the bullet. I heard Eric yelling, and there was a thunderous noise, but instead of the searing pain I expected, I was smothered in Eric and being clutched tightly to him. I looked at him, stunned, and saw the bloom of red begin to spread across his chest. My hand went right to it, and I began screaming. Then the police stormed the building and there were more gunshots.

Eric didn't even realize he'd been hit. He tried to calm me down, telling me it was okay, and that he had me. I brought my hand up, and when he saw the blood he panicked, believing I'd been hit.

"Eric," I said, "Eric, honey, it's not mine. You're hurt. You need to let them help you." I pushed him away from me, forcing him to lie down and let the paramedics do their job.

"Shit," he said, as the paramedics went to work. "Sookie, I'm so sorry," he began, but the paramedics were trying to put an oxygen mask on him, so I put a finger to his lips and said, "Later, Eric. You can tell me later."

They wheeled him away, and then there were more paramedics and they began to go over my injuries. I'm not gonna lie. I was hurting, badly, but even worse than the pain was the dread I felt in the pit of my stomach at the thought that Eric might not survive—because of me. The police were trying to ask me questions, but the paramedics told them to wait until they got me to the hospital. They wanted to make sure I didn't have any brain injuries from being knocked out in the trunk, or from the crack I took across the face. As I was wheeled away on my own gurney, I could see another set of paramedics working frantically on Bill. There was blood all around him, but I couldn't really bring myself to care.

Amelia rode in the ambulance with me on the way to the hospital. The paramedics kept asking me questions to ascertain how coherent I was. Did I know what day it was? What did I eat for breakfast? What was my address? Things of that nature. I answered mechanically. I looked at Amelia. "He jumped in front of me, Amelia. Why would he do that?" I asked, and I felt tears begin to slide down my face.

"Oh honey, do you really have to ask?"

I screwed my eyes shut, trying to stop the flood of tears that threatened to consume me completely, and shook my head. "I can't . . . I . . ." but I couldn't finish my thoughts as I was wracked with sobs. My mind was reeling, and as I began to crash from the adrenaline rush of fear, my body started to feel each and every bump, bruise, and cut, and I began shaking uncontrollably. A few minutes later, we arrived at the hospital.

The next several hours were a blur of tears, tests, doctors, needles, and questions, until finally, around four in the morning, I was given something to help me sleep, and I slid blissfully into the quiet darkness. I woke up some time in the early afternoon, and Amelia was asleep in the chair by the bed, never having left my side.

A part of me wanted to wake her up and ask about Eric, but another part, the terrified part of me, wanted to put off finding out. I didn't want to find out he was dead. If I stayed quiet, and didn't wake Amelia up, didn't let the nurses know I was awake, I could pretend for a little while longer. I could pretend that I was just going to start my first day in his class, and that I never looked into his eyes. I could pretend that I never went to his office that day and began this slow descent into insanity that most likely cost Eric his life—this insanity that began and ended with me, someone who didn't matter much in the big picture of things. I mean really, who was I? I was just a somewhat brighter than average, former cocktail waitress from a small town in Louisiana. I didn't have anyone counting on me, depending on me. I didn't have a job that mattered. I didn't have any scholarly works of merit, although I liked to think that Adam and I would someday get published for our treatise. Eric, however, was all those things that I was not. He was brilliant. He mattered. He would be missed. He had a mother who depended on him for care, and an estate to manage. In the scheme of things, the trade off was so imbalanced as to be ludicrous. Maybe one day, he would find someone worth the price, but the cost of loving me was too high. I wasn't worth it, and I'd brought him nothing but heartache over the course of the year and some odd months that I'd known him and, quite possibly, death.

Before I could think about it anymore, however, a nurse entered the room, and when she saw that I was awake, she began talking and fussing over me, which woke Amelia up as well. As soon as she saw me, she burst into tears, and we spent the next twenty minutes or so just crying on each other's shoulders, hardly saying a word, except for her assurance that Eric was alive and although he was still unconscious, he was expected to fully recover. I sobbed harder.

The doctor came in shortly afterward and relayed the results of all the tests. I had suffered a mild concussion, so they wanted to keep me another night to make sure I was okay. Other than a couple of cracked ribs from when Bill punched me, and a few stitches on my cheek from when he pistol whipped me, I was mostly just bruised.

After he left, I insisted that Amelia go home for a little while. She didn't want to, and I was about to try and trick her into it by telling her that I needed some fresh clothes, since I'd come to the hospital still in my Halloween costume, when Felicia knocked on the door. Seeing that I wasn't alone, Amelia relented and headed out, promising to return shortly.

"Hey," I said. I had no idea what was going through her head. We were friends, but I knew her loyalty lay first and foremost with Eric, and he almost died because of me. I guess I didn't need to worry, because she launched herself at me and hugged me as if her life depended on it, until I let out a whimper of pain. For a tiny thing, she sure could squeeze hard.

"Sorry," she said. "I'm so glad you're okay."

I waved my hand as if to indicate it was nothing and asked, "How's Eric?"

"He's okay. He was in surgery for a while, but he's a lucky _salop_. The bullet missed anything vital. His shoulder is out of commission for a while, but he'll be fine."

I heaved a sigh of relief at her words, and unbidden tears began to slide down my cheeks once more. Would I ever stop crying?

"You love him," she said and it wasn't a question, it was a statement of fact. All I could do was nod in response. "And he loves you," she continued.

I shook my head. "No. No he doesn't," I said. "I thought, maybe, but no."

"What happened last night, Sookie?"

I looked at her, my friend who was also like a sister to him, but I couldn't deny her, and I told her everything. I told her most of what he did and said to me. I told her how I fled. I told her what Bill did, and I told her how Eric saved my life.

"Sookie, how much proof do you need that he loves you? He took a bullet for you," she began, but I cut her off.

"No, Felicia. I know you and Amelia think that what he did means something; you both think actions speak louder than words. I believe in the power and beauty of words. Those two things are mutually exclusive. I have to believe what Eric said. What he did? I can't deny that he probably felt something for me at some point. Hell, he may have even felt guilty, for all I know. But his words, Felicia, those are what I have to go by."

"Sookie, I know he didn't mean what he said—"

"No, Felicia. It ends here," I interrupted. "If there is one thing I know, it's drunks. They rarely lie. Alcohol usually brings out the truth. Eric might have some sort of feelings for me, I don't know, but whatever they are, they aren't enough to get him past what Indira did to him. I don't know why he risked his life for me . . . I guess it's just his style, but Felicia, you don't—"

Felicia tried to interject, but I stopped her. "Please." I took a deep breath, and then I told her that Eric said that all he could give me was a fuck, and that I should go back to Alcide and give him a passel of kids. She sucked in her breath at that, knowing what that meant to me. "I know he couldn't have known, but Felicia, you can't possibly say anything like that to someone you love."

Her mouth pressed into a thin line. At first I wasn't sure if she was mad at him or at me, but then I heard her ranting in French, with Eric's name interspersed, and I figured it wasn't me she was pissed at.

"I need some space, Felicia. I can't see him. I don't want to see him. When I'm around him, I . . ." I trailed off, because I couldn't even begin to explain what being in his presence did to me. And to be around him, knowing how he felt, or rather didn't feel, about me? That was unbearable. I couldn't take it. "It's done. It's over. I really, really don't want to see him. He breaks my heart," I said with a sob. "I can't, Felicia. Please?"

She looked at me for a moment, but then she nodded.

"I need to talk to Niall. Can you call him or something for me?" I asked, and began to formulate my plan for the remainder of my year in school. By the time we were done, Niall had approved my request to finish my remaining few units as self-study, and Felicia was insisting I stay in her lake house. I raised an eyebrow. "You have a house on the lake?"

"I've made some very good investments," she said, but didn't elaborate. "I don't stay there often, and I have a feeling I'll be spending a lot of time babysitting in the next few months, so I won't have time to go up there anyway. Plus, I rarely use it in the winter months. It has a home office set up for when I need to work, so you'll be able to email and fax whatever you need. Please?"

I sighed and nodded. Really, it's not like I had a lot of choices. I needed to get away. I needed to be away from anywhere that I'd been with either Bill or Eric, and I wanted to avoid campus as much as possible. In truth, hiding out at a lakeside cottage sounded like heaven.

"Good. I'm going to call Claudine and ask her to set everything up. I'll have her stop at my house and get the keys, and then stop by the market to stock up." I started to protest, but she held up a hand. "Face it, Sookie, you're not in any condition to argue about this."

"Fine," I huffed. I hated people fussing over me.

The rest of the day passed in planning and dozing off. The pain medication they kept me on would knock me out, but I managed to have Amelia pack most of what I needed, at least for the short term. Whatever else I needed, she'd bring me later. Claudine volunteered to pick me up in the morning and take me to the lake. Felicia really wanted to stay with Eric, and I couldn't blame her for that. She'd already done so much for me.

The police came by in the early evening to ask a few more questions, and to let me know what was going on with Bill. His condition was precarious, and they weren't sure if he would make it or not. They told me the district attorney would most likely be charging him with kidnapping, assault, attempted murder—with special circumstances since he violated a previous restraining order—and after I told them what he admitted to me about Bartlett, they said they would alert the district attorney back home, and he would probably also be brought up on murder charges there. Also, when they searched his home after he was arrested and brought to the hospital, they found a veritable shrine erected to me, replete with various personal items, including undergarments and other things that I had never given him, and he could only have acquired by breaking in, so that would likely be added to the tally. I hadn't felt so violated since Bartlett. I knew it was unlikely that Bill would get out even if he recovered, but I was so grateful that I had somewhere else to live that Bill was unfamiliar with, and I was even more grateful for the medication they were giving me so that I could sleep that night.

However, before I fell asleep, I asked the nurse for some stationery and a pen. I thought long and hard before I wrote, but I felt like I had to say something, one last thing, to Eric. Plus, whatever his insane motivations were, the fact was, the man saved my life and I owed him a thank you at the very least. Gran would roll in her grave otherwise. It took me five drafts before I got it right, and without tear stains on it. I licked the envelope shut, reached over to the bedside table, and tipped the Dixie cup with the pills in it into my mouth, allowing the unthinking bliss of the medication to take me under.

The next morning, Claudine and Amelia showed up early to get me discharged and relocated. I gave the letter to Felicia, and she didn't even ask me any questions. I knew she would make sure Eric got it.

When the doctor signed the discharge papers, I asked Claudine and Amelia to take me down to the billing office so I could give them my new address. Even though I had health insurance, I still had a deductible and copay to think of. It wasn't until I was being wheeled through the halls—ridiculous hospital regulations—and paid attention to the signs that the realization hit me. _The Norrman Critical Care Center_. Norrman. That's what the guy at the party had called Eric, and that's when I understood.

Eric had been the one to pay my bill. I was certain of it. I don't know why he called himself Northman, but it was clear that it was a pseudonym. I began to doubt everything. Had I been dreaming when I saw him in the doorway of my room? Had he been at the hospital? I was so confused, and angry, and frustrated, and I could feel the tears starting again, and that made me even angrier, because I was so tired of crying.

I looked at Claudine. "Norrman? That's him, right?" I knew I was right, but I guess I needed confirmation.

She sighed and nodded.

Shit. I closed my eyes. I wouldn't, couldn't, think about it. Eric was in the past. He'd made his feelings perfectly clear, and it was time to move on. I wasn't going to analyze his past actions anymore. I wasn't going to hope. I wasn't going to wait. I was done. I'd been bruised and battered, both physically and emotionally. I was spent.

I took care of the paperwork, and Claudine and Amelia hustled me into the car, quickly and efficiently, before Claudine shot out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell. The two of them were looking all over the place, like a bad caricature of a couple of spies.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Nothing!" Amelia replied, too quickly and with too much effort.

"Amelia," I growled.

She looked at Claudine, who shrugged and said, "The press has been sniffing around."

The press. I felt like I'd arrived in Bizarro World. Where was evil Superman? It was beyond insane. I closed my eyes and allowed sleep to overtake me. It seemed to be my go-to defense.

I woke up when the car stopped. We'd parked in front of a beautiful home on the lake. I was stunned. Felicia made it seem like a small, summer cottage. This was a gorgeous—and big— house! She must have made one hell of an investment.

We walked in, and I gasped. The entire southern wall, facing the lake, was made up of windows. It was an incredible view: the calm, glassy water, rock-lined beach, and tall, stately trees. I couldn't wait to see the colors play over the water at sunset. The décor was actually simpler than I expected from Felicia, but suited the location perfectly. The colors were all earth tones—beiges, browns, greens, and ivories. It was beautiful.

Over the next couple of hours, Claudine, Amelia, and I organized my things and set me up to stay in the house. I probably should say Claudine and Amelia did it, since they didn't let me lift a finger, and I was reduced to barking orders out from the couch. Even so, by the time we'd eaten a late lunch, I was exhausted. I convinced them to go, assuring them that I was fine, that I was just going to shower and go to sleep, and that I'd call in the morning. When they finally left, I began to wander around the house. I opened doors, rifled through closets, and opened a few drawers. I wasn't trying to snoop, per se, but I wanted to get a feel for the place that was going to be my home for the next few months, at least.

I opened a door that was under the stairs, which revealed a small storage closet. Inside was the vacuum cleaner and broom. _Good to know_ , I thought. I also saw a small box in the corner. When I looked inside, I found a pile of framed pictures. I lifted the one on top and found myself looking at a photo of Eric. It was an older picture, perhaps taken when he and Felicia were in high school. He had his arm thrown over her shoulder, and they were both smiling. They looked so innocent and carefree, and there was no trace of pain or cynicism in Eric's eyes. Indira had not yet stolen his happiness.

I dug into the pile of pictures further and found that each and every one was of Eric, and I realized that Claudine must have come ahead of me and pulled each picture off the walls and other places they had been on display. I didn't know if I should be grateful for her thoughtfulness or scream at the unfairness of it all.

I finally tore myself away from the little treasure trove of Norrman history, and made my way upstairs. In the hallway, I could see empty spots on the wall where pictures used to hang. I made my way to the bedroom, where I peeled off my clothes and went to shower. When the water was nice and hot, I stepped in and began to wash my hair. I reached for the conditioner, wincing as the pain in my ribs reminded me that my movements were limited. As if the pain flipped a switch, the memories of everything that had happened to me in the previous couple of days flooded me. I slid down the wall of the shower and sat on the floor, my knees to my chest and my hands wrapped around them. Once more, tears were flowing. I cried for everything that happened that night. I cried for my lost innocence at Bartlett's hands. I cried for my loss of faith after what Bill had said and done. I cried for my lost chances when I thought of Alcide. I cried for my lost heart, because as sure as I was still breathing, Eric held it in his hands, and I couldn't see ever giving it to someone else again. I cried as I realized I wasn't sure who I was anymore, or how my life had come to this pass. I cried until the water ran cold, and I began to shiver.

I finally stood, turned off the water, and stepped out. My hands were shaking from the cold, and I realized I had probably sat in the freezing water a bit too long. I had just managed to wrap myself in a robe when I heard a loud, persistent knocking at the front door. I shuffled my way down the stairs, aching and frozen. I was going to kill Amelia. I was sure she was back to bring me something she decided I couldn't live without, just so she could check on me once more.

"Amelia," I began as I reached for the door, "I already told you I was—" but instead of Amelia, I found myself facing Eric, "f . . . fine," I concluded lamely. "W . . . what are you doing here, Eric?" I asked, stuttering as a gust of chilly wind blew in and added to my already frozen state.

"Jesus, Sookie, your lips are blue!" Eric cried out. He took a step towards me, but I took one back.

"D . . . d . . . don't," I warned.

"Sookie, you look half frozen," he said as he took another step to me. "Let me—"

I backed up more, and felt the wind swirling about my legs. "L . . . l . . . leave me alone, Eric. J . . . j . . . just g . . . g . . . go."

A look of hurt passed across his face, but then he turned back to the door, "Felicia, could you please help Sookie."

Felicia stepped around Eric and walked in. I hadn't seen her hidden behind him. I shot her a look. "T . . . t . . . traitor." I wanted to say more, but my teeth were chattering too hard.

She wrapped an arm around my shoulders and walked me to the chair by the fireplace. The wood was already arranged in the grate, so she just turned the key for the gas and lit it. "What happened, _chere_?

"Shower. R . . . r . . . ran out of h . . . h . . . hot water," I managed to squeak out.

" _Chere_ , that's a fifty-gallon tank; how long were you in there?"

I shrugged. I really had no idea.

"Eric," she said, "make yourself useful. Go plug the kettle in for some tea. I'll help you make it in a moment."

I looked over at him, and the expression on his face held nothing but concern and worry, but he didn't move an inch. His arm was in a sling, and he was very pale. He looked torn about what to do.

" _Va t'en_! Go, Eric."

He finally turned and walked out of the room, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath, and I couldn't help but smirk inwardly at the image of Felicia ordering Eric about.

She grabbed a blanket off the couch and covered me with it. The fire was starting to warm me up; at least my teeth weren't chattering anymore.

"Felicia, why did you bring him here?" I hissed. "You promised me I would have privacy here." I felt incredibly betrayed, and I was certainly not in the mood to deal with Eric. Hell, just having him there made me question all my decisions to cut him out of my life, and his presence kept me from thinking straight. It was like putting a needle in front of a junkie who was trying to kick the habit. "I thought you were my friend too. God, I feel so stupid," I said. I decided I'd grab a paper first thing in the morning and begin looking for somewhere else to live.

Felicia grabbed my hand. "Sookie, I am your friend, and it's because I love you both that I'm doing this. You need to hear what he has to say, and he needs to hear you as well. When you're done, if you still want him gone, he's gone, I swear, but please, just hear him out, okay?"

She was so adamant, so determined, that I finally resigned myself to the fact that she was going to get her way, and I nodded. She smiled and patted my leg. "I'll be right back." And she stood to follow Eric into the kitchen.

A couple minutes later, Eric walked back in, _sans_ Felicia, a cup of tea in his good hand. He handed it to me, and I was very careful not to touch him as I took the mug in my hands. I wrapped them both around it, feeling the warmth spread through my fingers, and brought it up to my nose to inhale, closing my eyes and enjoying the heat radiating onto my face.

I opened my eyes and found Eric staring at me. "Umm, thank you," I murmured, and then looked away.

I heard a sigh, then the rustle of fabric as Eric sat down on the couch. Part of me was irritated. What right did he have to sigh? He made himself quite clear the other night. Now Felicia was dragging him to me, for what? I felt my anger begin to boil.

"What do you want, Eric?" Gran would have winced at the tone of my voice.

"I owe you an apology, Sookie. The other night—"

"You don't owe me anything, Eric. You said what you felt the other night. I get it. Besides, you saved my life for some reason I'll never understand. You don't owe me a thing, so don't worry about it, okay?"

I stood up and began to pace in front of the fireplace, the mug of tea forgotten on the side table.

"Sookie, you don't understand what I'm trying to say."

"No, Eric. No, I don't. I don't understand anything anymore! First you drag me out of the party and dump all these feelings on me, things that I'd been waiting a year to hear, only to have you panic and run."

I stopped pacing and turned to him, wrapping my arms around myself protectively. "I mean, why? What was the point? You made your real feelings clear later, so why would you do that to me?"

"Sookie—"

"And don't tell me it was just because you were drunk! Alcohol loosens the inhibitions, makes you do and say things you would otherwise be afraid to do or say. So, don't tell me you didn't mean it, because I'm pretty damn sure you did."

"Sookie—"

I began pacing again, and was in a full on rant at this point. I could tell my voice was getting shrill, but I couldn't stop myself. There was so much going on inside of me, and once the floodgates opened, it all just poured out.

"And then you come after me and Bill? You decide to play hero? What were you thinking? Did you feel that guilty? Because you sure as hell don't do that for someone you just want to fuck, Eric. So the only thing I can figure is that you felt guilty, or you have a hero complex I don't know about. Oh God, you do, don't you? Why else risk everything for me? Who am I? I'm nobody. You? You're Eric Northman, or Norrman, or whatever the fuck your name is!"

"Sookie—"

"You're rich, and powerful, and brilliant, and you have people depending on you. Why would you do that for someone like me? Someone with a crazy, murdering ex who stalks her, kidnaps her, and shoots you? It's so . . . so . . . so Jerry Springer! Bill sure was right about one thing; I am damaged. How else do you explain my choice in men, right? One I can't get rid of, one who's in love with his ex, and another who can't push me away fast enough. Who am I kidding? I'm a walking disaster area, right?

"Is there a sign above my head that reads: stop here for a fun ride? Maybe I should become a lesbian. I mean, men have been nothing but a disaster for my whole life. God, even when I was a child—"

"Sookie, would you PLEASE STOP FOR A MINUTE!"

Eric's shout finally shut me up. While I was busy ranting, he had risen and walked over to me. He caught my chin with his free hand and tilted my head up to look in my eyes, which at that point were probably as big as saucers. I was ready to continue my tirade, but instead, my mouth snapped shut, and I took a shuddering breath.

"I came here to tell you that I love you, Sookie Stackhouse. I love you with every fiber of my being. You have consumed me utterly and completely. You're all I think about. You asked why I would take a bullet for you? Because the thought of a world without you in it is untenable. Because you have brought me back to life, and I can't bear to return to how I was. Because I no longer want to live a life filled with regret. Because I want to live the rest of my life with you."


	25. Chapter 25

When Felicia and I left the hospital, after signing a stack of papers wherein I swore up and down that I understood I was leaving against medical advice and would not hold the hospital liable if anything happened to me, we got into her car and started driving out of the city. I realized we were heading to the lake, and I turned and looked at her.

"The lake house?" I asked.

She nodded.

It was a good choice, and I never would have guessed it on my own. We'd spent so much time on the lake when we were young. It was a happy place in my memory, and would probably be a good place for Sookie to heal. When Felicia bought the house there, we would spend a little time there every summer. I realized, however, that we hadn't been there—at least I hadn't—in a few years, and I also realized that it was because I had increasingly shrunk the borders of my life down to: work, my mother, my extended family, and the empty satisfaction of random women. I hadn't been living at all. I'd merely been existing.

When we pulled up, I saw that there were no cars in the driveway.

"She's alone?" I asked Felicia.

Her brow creased in concern. "Amelia and Claudine brought her here, but you know Sookie," she said. "She probably shooed them away as soon as she could."

We walked to the front door, and I waited for Felicia to unlock it.

"Uh uh," she said. "I promised Sookie privacy and a place to be alone. I'm already breaking that promise and risking my friendship with her by bringing you here. I am not just going to barge in there. If you want to talk to her, you're going to have to knock on that door and pray she's willing to open it for you."

So I did. I knocked. And waited. Then I knocked some more. I was starting to worry. It would be one thing if she knew it was me and was refusing to answer, but she hadn't even acknowledged the knocking. I looked at Felicia, but she just shrugged.

"Maybe she's asleep," she suggested.

"Or, maybe something's wrong," I countered, and knocked harder.

Then I heard her. "Amelia," she said with irritation as she opened the door. "I already told you I was f. . . fine," she stuttered.

I was at once struck stupid with happiness at seeing her again, while at the same time terrified because she did not look right.

"W . . . what are you doing here, Eric?" she asked, and that's when I realized her lips were blue—she was freezing!

"Jesus, Sookie, your lips are blue!" I cried out as I took a step towards her, wanting nothing more than to wrap her up in my arms, but she stepped away from me. I can't lie. Seeing her step back from me, in fear or perhaps pain, tore at my soul.

"D . . . d . . . don't," she said, as her teeth chattered.

I tried to help her, but she wanted nothing to do with me, so I finally asked Felicia to help her. It was obvious she was half frozen and I was furious. What was happening? Where were Claudine and Amelia? How could they leave her like this? But more than angry, I was terrified. She'd been through so much already, and I didn't think her body could take much more.

Felicia took control of the situation as usual, ushering Sookie into the living room and starting a fire in the fireplace. When Sookie admitted that her half-frozen state occurred because she'd run out of hot water, I felt my stomach clench in fear. I didn't need Felicia to remind me of the size of that water heater, and I could very well imagine her sitting alone in that shower until the water ran cold, and longer. _Oh God, Sookie._

Then Felicia was yelling at me to go make Sookie some tea, and I left the room despite the fact that I wanted nothing so much as to be in her presence, even if she didn't want to talk to me. _Fuck_. She didn't even want me near her. I closed my eyes and replayed the way she stepped back from me. I shook my head, silently berating myself for allowing things to become this screwed up.

After a few minutes, Felicia came in to help me with the tea.

"Take this to Sookie and talk to her, Eric," she said handing me the mug. I took it from her and started toward the living room. "And, Eric," she stopped me, "make it good."

I walked towards Sookie and handed her the tea, somewhat hurt when I realized she took pains to avoid even touching my fingers. I sat down and began to apologize to her, but she cut me off and launched into a tirade.

At first, I understood her anger. Yes, I'd been an ass on Halloween, and the things I said should have been unforgiveable, although I prayed that she would forgive me. When she called me on being drunk, I once again tried to interrupt her, because it was clear she didn't understand my intentions at all. She was right; alcohol does loosen inhibitions and make us do exactly what we want, and yes, I meant what I said, but not the way she thought. She didn't understand that in my stupidity I _thought_ I wanted to make her hate me, and she believed everything I said. I got exactly what I thought I wanted that night.

Fair enough.

However, when she started to rant about why I'd come after her and Bill, and began to demean herself, I was shocked. She thought I'd done it out of guilt? That I had a hero complex? Couldn't she see past the things I'd said to the things I'd done?

It wasn't until Sookie starting railing about how she was not worth it, and how I was so much more than she could ever be, that I began to realize how insecure she was. Did she really believe that? Could she really believe she wasn't worth saving? That somehow, in the scheme of life, I was more important than she was? It was then that I started to grasp that she was quite possibly as damaged as I was, and yet she had made the effort to keep on living—to seek out love and life and happiness, with Bill, Alcide, me—and we'd all failed her.

I stood up and walked over to her, but she didn't even realize I was there. She continued on with a full head of steam until I finally had to shout to get her attention.

And then I said it. I told her I loved her, and the world didn't end. Of course, if she didn't feel the same about me, I was sure the world would end. I meant everything I said to her. I could no longer fathom a life without her in it. I could no longer bear the thought of not having her by my side always. I could no longer abide waking up alone or eating another dinner by myself. I needed her like I needed the air to breathe, and I was not going to make the same mistake Niall made all those years ago.

I was going to make her mine.

Because I was already hers.

Of course, I didn't expect her to react as she did to my profession of love. I'd always believed that when a man told a woman that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, she would throw her arms around him, possibly kiss him, and if he was very lucky he'd get to make love to her then and there.

Instead, she slapped me. Twice.

"Stop fucking with my head!" she yelled at me. "I've had enough for two lifetimes!"

"Sookie, I'm not fucking with your head," I replied. "I love you. Completely and irrevocably, and you need to know that. Even if you never want to see me again, and God, I hope that's not the case, you need to know that I lied that night. I was afraid, terrified really; you were so right about that. I'm also a selfish bastard. I've strung you along, played this game with you, and even though I believed I couldn't give you more, I also couldn't walk away. I figured that for once, I'd stop being selfish. So, I said what I did to make sure you left, to make sure you hated me, because I knew I didn't have the strength to walk away from you." I chuckled mirthlessly, "I guess it worked. But the minute the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to take them back, only you'd already run out.

"I chased after you, but I was too late, and Bill . . ." I trailed off as my stomached roiled, an uncomfortable reminder of my terror at watching him stuff her in the trunk and drive off. I choked back a small sob as I continued. "Seeing him take you . . . Oh God, Sookie, I've never been more terrified in my life. He had you, and I knew he would hurt you, and I was afraid he would do worse, and I kept thinking that my last words to you were hateful and that you would never know how I really felt."

Tears were streaming down her face, and I tentatively reached out to her, cupping her face with my good hand and brushing the tears aside with my thumb. She didn't pull away, but she didn't lean in to my touch, either. We still had a long way to go.

"You hurt me, Eric," she finally said. "You hurt me more than anything Bill did."

She looked up at me then, her unusual blue eyes brimming with tears, and my heart nearly shattered. All I wanted to do was love her. Help her heal. Make us both . . . better, and instead, I was making her cry. I slid my hand to the back of her neck and pulled her to me, feeling her resist at first, before she relaxed into my chest. I kissed the top of her head, whispering over and over, "I'm so sorry, my love. So, so sorry."

We stood there for a few minutes, not saying anything. I could feel the front of my shirt getting wet as she silently cried, and I just held her, brushing my lips over the top of her hair, inhaling her smell—although, for once, my body was not stirring in response. In fact, after a few minutes, I felt my knees begin to buckle.

"Eric!" Sookie cried out as I stumbled back and sat heavily on the couch. "Oh shit! Felicia!"

I looked down and saw that the wet spot I'd assumed was from Sookie's tears was actually blood seeping through my bandages. I guess this was my hint that I'd over-done it, but I couldn't regret it. Sookie and I still had a lot to work through, but I could tell now that we'd be able to—that she would want to.

For the next half hour or so the two of them clucked about me like a pair of mother hens, changing my bandage and making sure my feet were elevated. When the dizziness passed, they had me move to one of the bedrooms to rest. Sookie made me eat some soup, and Felicia made me take the Percocet the hospital had sent me home with, and before I knew it, I was asleep.

When I woke up the next morning, I was slightly confused as to where I was at first. I slowly sat up in the bed, not wanting my stitches to tear or any more bleeding to occur. I rubbed my face with my hand, trying to wake up. I looked at the wall across from me and frowned. I could see an empty space there that was slightly discolored, brighter and cleaner than the surrounding area. After a moment, I could tell that it was the exact size and shape of a picture frame, and I suddenly remembered that a picture of me and Felicia hung there last time I'd visited. I got up, used the en suite, and made my way into the hallway. I noticed a few more empty spots on the walls and realized all the missing pictures had been ones of me, or me and Felicia. _Fuck_. Had Sookie done it? Somehow I didn't think so. This smelled of Claudine. But it also served to remind me just how badly I'd hurt Sookie. So badly that even my friends thought they had to erase me from her life.

I heard the clatter of pans in the kitchen and made my way there. I stood in the doorway watching Sookie as she deftly moved about preparing breakfast. She was wearing a t-shirt that hit her at about mid-thigh, and when she reached to grab something from an upper cabinet, the shirt rode up, showing me a pair of black boy shorts, trimmed in lace. Her perfect ass was peeking out the bottom of them, and my eyes followed the line down her beautiful legs. I groaned out loud as my dick sprang to attention. Sookie screamed and spun around, wielding the spatula like a weapon.

"Shit, Eric! You scared me," she shrieked.

"I'm sorry," I said as I approached her. "I'll wear a cowbell next time," I joked.

She smiled slightly, although I could still see a touch of fear in her eyes. _Is she scared of me?_ "No, it's okay, Eric. I guess after everything with Bill, I'm still a bit skittish," she said before turning back to the stove and using the spatula to turn over what looked like French toast. She set it down, and I saw her grip the edge of the counter tightly.

"Sookie," I whispered as I approached her slowly. "Sookie, love, you're safe now," I continued as I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her to me so that her back was flush against my chest. I felt her shake with silent sobs as I held her close. "He'll never touch you again. I swear, Sookie." And he never would. I had plans for William Compton.

After a minute, she wiped her eyes and I felt her straighten up. "Thank you," she whispered. "Now, let me finish making breakfast." She turned to face me. "And you! You should be sitting down. I don't want a replay of yesterday, mister," she said, only partly playfully.

I raised my hand in surrender and sat down. "Where's Felicia?"

"She left last night, after she made sure you were okay and that I wasn't going to kill you," she said with a giggle. "She said she'd call later today and see if we needed her."

Within fifteen minutes I had a plate of French toast, bacon, and strawberries in front of me, and was drinking a perfect cup of coffee. It seemed like café au lait, but something was different. "C'est magnifique," I said gesturing to the coffee. "What is it?"

"I'm from Louisiana, cher," she reminded me. "Café au lait is part of our blood, but the special ingredient here is chicory. If you behave yourself, maybe I'll make you some beignets to go with it tomorrow." She said it all with a Cajun tinged accent that I'd never heard her use before, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't one of the sexiest things I'd ever heard.

"And what if I don't want to behave myself?" I asked flirtatiously, and immediately regretted it when I saw the look on her face. "I'm sorry, Sookie. That was inappropriate."

"No, Eric, it's fine, but we have a lot to talk about. We can't just pick up where we left off." Her cheeks flushed red, and I knew she was thinking about the library—the last time we had really been intimate in any way.

I reached across the table and grabbed her hand. "Whatever you want, Sookie. However you want to do this, I'm here." All semblance of self-preservation was gone. I would do whatever she wanted, however she wanted to, as long as I got her back.

She squeezed my hand in return and said, "Thank you, Eric," while gracing me with a beautiful smile. The first real smile I'd seen since we were at Adam and Thalia's house. Which reminded me . . . "Shit! I need to call Worthington. I'll need his and Niall's help covering my classes." She laughed at me lightly and said, "Go on to the living room. I'll clean up while you call him, and then I'll bring us out some more coffee and," she hesitated slightly, "and then we can talk, alright?"

I walked to my room, grabbed my phone from the pocket of the pants I'd worn the day before, and went into the living room. I stood by the huge wall of windows that overlooked the lake. The water was glassy, and the morning sunlight glinted off of it blindingly, causing me to squint. I flipped the phone open and dialed Adam's office number.

"Hi Adam," I began, still trying to figure out how he'd gone from Worthington to Adam. Before Sookie entered my life, he was only a co-worker, a colleague, someone to grab a drink with once a week, nothing more. Now, for the first time in years, I felt like I had a new friend. It only served to remind me further how small my world had become.

He interrupted my train of thought with his shouting. "Northman, you crazy son-of-a-bitch, what were you thinking?"

How could I explain it to him? I decided to put it in terms I thought he would unequivocally understand. "If it had been Thalia on the floor in front of him with a gun pointed at her, what would you have done?" I whispered, finally admitting to him how much I loved Sookie.

I heard his sharp intake of breath. "Damn."

"Yeah," I replied, because really, what else was there to say?

"Well, when you're feeling better, you and I are going to have a drink, and you're going to tell me everything. Sookie has already told us some of it, but I have a feeling I'll find your perspective very interesting," he said, and I knew his interest in the story wasn't prurient. He was asking as a man who himself was deeply in love and had much to lose.

We talked a bit longer, and he assured me that he could handle covering my classes for the next couple of weeks. I told him I would email him my notes and lesson plans later that day, and after telling him to give Thalia and Adam, Jr. my regards, I closed the phone. I leaned back against the sofa I'd sat on and closed my eyes, enjoying the warmth of the fall sun as it was magnified through the glass.

I smelled her before I even heard her footsteps. "There you are," I said without opening my eyes.

"How did you know?" she asked.

I opened my eyes slowly and looked up at her. She was holding out a cup of coffee for me. I smiled. "Thank you."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Your smell. Your scent. It was one of the first things I noticed about you," I told her honestly. "You made me crazy in class, smelling like that. Every time I even thought I caught a whiff of it when I was in Europe, I was off running. I smelled it at Westminster, right before I ran in to you." I paused, and I could feel my brow wrinkle slightly.

"What?" she asked.

"I thought I caught your scent in Venice one time, but . . ." I trailed off as I saw a look cross over her face.

"I was there," she whispered.

"What?"

"I thought I saw you in the crowd, and I chased after you but you were gone. It was just like in my dreams," she muttered.

"It had to have been you, then. It's too big a coincidence for it not to be," I said. "Wait a minute? Did you say you dreamt about me?"

She blushed. "Caught that, did you?"

I smiled and nodded.

"When I was in the hospital last year, I kept dreaming that you were there, but always running away from me. I would call after you, begging you to stop, to stop running, but you never did. I thought I opened my eyes once and saw you there, but you were running out the door. I figured it was just another dream." She paused. "It wasn't a dream, was it?"

I shook my head. "No. I was there."

"Why did you run away?" she asked.

So I told her. I told her how I'd heard her call out in her dream and beg me to stop. I told her how at the time, I believed she was begging me to leave her alone. Obviously, I was wrong.

"Is that why you paid my bill? Guilt?"

"What? No. Maybe. I don't know," I finally answered. "I have all this money, all these resources at my disposal, and I just . . . I just wanted to help you somehow. Maybe make up for ruining your life."

"You didn't ruin my life, Eric."

"I didn't know that at the time."

She wanted to know more, so I told her everything. I held nothing back. I told her how I would come visit her at night, when no one else was there. A couple of the nurses had been among those who helped care for my mother when she had been in the ICU, and they let me visit with Sookie and sit with her, and kept my secret.

"You know, someone mentioned that a man had been to see me. I assumed it was Bill. That's why I was going to still try and make it work with him, you know?"

I felt like kicking myself. If I hadn't been such a coward, if I hadn't run from her at every turn, she wouldn't have gotten back together with Bill, and I told her as much. "He wouldn't have hurt you on Thanksgiving," I whispered, dropping my eyes to my hands.

She leaned forward and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look her in the eyes. "Maybe. But then Bill wouldn't have brought me to Thanksgiving, and we wouldn't have wound up in Niall's wine cellar," she said with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

I stared at her for a moment, then I grabbed the back of her neck and said, "Come here, you amazing woman," before bringing my lips to hers. Her lips were soft, yielding, and warm, but before I could take it any further, she pulled back and resumed her seat on the couch. I looked over at her, seeing the pink flush in her cheeks and the heat in her eyes, and took a moment to shift in my seat and try to get comfortable—as comfortable as I could with a hard on. The things she did to me with something as innocent as a kiss or a look, made me feel like an undisciplined school boy who couldn't stop thinking with his dick.

Suddenly a dark look crossed her face.

"What is it, Sookie?"

"Was Thanksgiving the reason you went to Cambridge? Were you trying to get away from me?"

"No. Well, yes, but," I sighed, realizing that the conversation wasn't getting any easier. "Yes, I was getting away from you, but I accepted Cambridge that night in the hospital, when I thought you were having nightmares about me. I didn't run away because of Thanksgiving."

"Oh," she said quietly.

"Was Thanksgiving why you went to Italy?"

"Honestly?"

"Yes."

"Yes, it was."

I have no doubt my face fell.

"I didn't know what else to do, Eric. I discovered that Bill was nothing like the man I thought he was, and you had retreated into yourself completely. And this opportunity just fell in my lap. I had to get away—from you, from Bill, from my life." Then she chuckled into her coffee cup. "Plus, it was freaking Italy, ya know?"

I laughed lightly as well.

We talked the entire morning, as Sookie continued to grill me on my actions and motivations in the prior year. It was freeing, and I realized that I was joyful for the first time in a very long time. I knew we still had to discuss some things, but I also knew that we were going to be okay, and that made me delirious with happiness. I was somewhat embarrassed when I had to tell her how I tried to forget her when I first got to Cambridge, but she took it in stride, apparently understanding my need to drown myself in nameless, faceless sex as a seeming antidote to her.

"How do you do that?" I asked.

"Do what?"

"Take it in stride. How is it that you are so understanding about all this?" I knew I couldn't bear the thought of her being with Alcide during that time. Just the idea that she could have done what I did made me insane with jealousy. It wasn't fair, but it was just the way I felt.

"Eric, I may not have a lot of experience with men, but I learned at a very early age that sex and emotions are two completely different things. Sex without love, or at least a deep feeling for someone, is just that—a potentially pleasurable, but inevitably meaningless act."

I wanted to ask her exactly what she meant by "at a young age," but just then, my stomach growled. We laughed, and Sookie said she'd fix us something to eat.

"Let me help," I said.

She gave me a pointed look, eyed my shoulder up and down, and said, "And how exactly would you do that, gimp?"

"Did you just call me gimp?" I asked as I began to stand up.

Sookie quickly jumped up and ran behind the couch, her eyes bright, and her lip between her teeth. I wanted to bite that lip and tug it into my mouth.

"I guess I'll just have to show you what I can do with one hand," I said in a low voice.

Her eyes grew wide and pink began to stain her cheeks. Then she ran. I chuckled and followed her at a slower pace, knowing I couldn't run with my shoulder barely holding together. I found her in the kitchen, pulling out sandwich fixings from the refrigerator. She backed out and closed the door, squealing when she realized I was on the other side.

"Maybe the cowbell was a good idea," she muttered.

"Sookie," I growled.

She took a step back.

I took a step toward her.

She backed up again, hitting the counter, trapped.

I leaned in, running my nose along her neck, breathing her in, tracing the lines of her artery up to her ear, where I whispered, "You didn't even ask me _what_ I wanted to eat."

She moaned, and the turkey and lettuce hit the floor. She clutched the edge of the counter as I nibbled on her earlobe.

"Eric, I think—"

"Don't think. Enough thinking. Enough talking," I purred against her throat.

I teased a trail along her neck with my tongue, sucking on the spot behind her ear that always seemed to drive her wild. Her throaty moans were going straight to my cock, which was straining against my pants, but I tried to ignore it, because this was going to be about her. I'd told her how I felt the day before. I'd spent the morning showing her that I loved her enough to trust her with my feelings. Right then, I needed to show her just how much, and although her love had changed me, this was still what I was good at. This I knew I could do well.

I loosely wrapped my hand on her throat, cupping her chin, and then tilted her head up and kissed her. It was slow, languorous, wet, and passionate. I tried to pour every ounce of love I had into the kiss. I wanted her to feel what I felt—to erase any doubts my words may have left.

"Eric!" she cried out in a half sob, half moan, as my good hand slid under her shirt and with a flick of my fingers, unsnapped her bra in the front. I allowed my fingers to trace her nipples in slow, teasing circles before suddenly pinching one, causing her to arch against me and cry out. I grabbed the hem of her shirt and tugged it up. She lifted her arms, and I managed to work it off her, with her bra soon following suit. I dipped my head down and took one of her nipples into my mouth as I teased the other with my fingers, sucking, licking, nibbling, and finally nipping sharply at the tightened peak, before moving to the other one.

She was panting, and I slid my hand down as I sank to my knees, making quick work of the drawstring of the yoga pants she'd put on after breakfast. They slid down her legs of their own accord, and my hand snaked its way further down and into her little boy shorts. I dipped a finger between her folds and felt how ready she was.

"Fuck, baby, you're so wet," I panted against her stomach before kissing all over the soft, flat plane, running my tongue from hip bone to hip bone, and dipping it into her belly button. My fingers slid along her folds, until I pressed two inside her and began to gently thrust in and out. Her whimpers of pleasure were driving me insane with want.

I pulled my fingers out and gripped the fabric that was impeding what I really wanted, pulling until I heard a satisfying rip, and the scraps of cotton and lace fell to the ground. I kissed my way down her stomach and used my good hand to lift her leg over my good shoulder.

"This is what I'm craving," I murmured against the skin of her thigh, as I lightly kissed my way from her knee to her center. I looked up at her and saw her head thrown back in pleasure, her lip trapped between her teeth once more.

"Sookie, watch me," I demanded. Her head snapped forward and her eyes opened; I held her gaze as I took my tongue, flattened it, and ran it from her opening to her clit, over and over, like a cat enjoying itself. "Jesus, you taste so fucking good," I moaned. After several passes, I latched on to her clit and began sucking, while my fingers plunged into her once more. I alternated sucking on her clit with flicks of my tongue, while my fingers continued their assault, until finally I growled, "cum for me baby, cum in my mouth," and I lightly bit her swollen clit.

She screamed as her pussy clenched around my fingers, and I could feel a surge of moisture flow out of her and down my hand. I slowed my movements, and replaced my fingers with my tongue, drinking her in, until the last of her shudders ended, and her leg fell away from my shoulder.

She slid down to the floor in front of me.

"Not bad for a gimp, huh?" I teased.

She giggled and said, "Too bad you're not in worse shape. I thought you would have enjoyed the attentions of your very own nurse, but if you're doing so well . . ." she said, trailing off at the end.

I immediately fell back against the island and began whimpering. "I'm suddenly in so much pain," I moaned, but I couldn't stop smiling. Sookie burst into laughter, and my heart soared at the sight and sound of it. I determined then and there that I was going to spend the rest of my life making her laugh like that.

I made my way back upright, and held my hand out for her. She held it lightly, but used the counter behind her to pull most of her weight up. She leaned forward and kissed me, as her hand slid down to my now very prominent bulge, but I grabbed her wrist.

"No," I said. "This was about you, love. We have the rest of our lives for everything else."

"Who are you and what have you done with Eric Northman?" she asked teasingly, but a small part of me winced, because she was right. The man I was before was an asshole, and I was ashamed that we shared a name.

I pulled her to me, resting my forehead against hers. "I'm so sorry, Sookie. I'm so sorry I was such an ass, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

I heard her sharp intake of breath, and we pulled apart just enough to look into each other's eyes.

"What are you saying, Eric?"

Jesus, what was I saying? It wasn't like I had a grand plan, but at the same time, I knew I was never going to let her go. I needed Sookie like I needed air or water to survive. Without her, I would just be the same husk of a person I was before, and that was too painful to even contemplate.

I took a deep breath. "I meant what I said yesterday, Sookie. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, in whatever way you want. I know I have a lot to make up for, but I'm yours, body and soul."


	26. Chapter 26

I stared at Eric as if he'd grown two heads. "What are you saying, Eric?"

"I meant what I said yesterday, Sookie. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, in whatever way you want. I know I have a lot to make up for, but I'm yours, body and soul."

"Eric . . . I . . ." I trailed off. I what? What did I want? How did I feel?

"Sookie?"

I looked at him, his glacier blue eyes gazed at me, worried. His face was etched with concern. His hair was mussed and I could see the traces of myself on his lips and chin, still glistening. I looked at him, this man who had invaded my heart, who had filled it more than I ever thought possible, and yet had simultaneously broken it—this man who had risked his life for me, and who now risked the shreds of his own broken soul to love me. I was suddenly swamped with emotion: fear, hope, excitement, but mostly, with love.

I leaned forward and cupped his face in my hands. "I love you Eric Northman," I said before pressing my lips to his. "I love you, all of you," I whispered as I pulled myself closer to him, mindful of his injured shoulder.

We sat there, I don't know for how long—our foreheads touching, my arms wrapped around his waist, as his good arm held my neck—until finally I heard him groan slightly.

"Oh God, Eric! Your shoulder!"

He laughed lightly. "It's worth it."

"C'mon," I said as I pulled us both up to our feet. "Let's get you something to eat. I think that's why I came in here in the first place."

He smiled sheepishly and said, "I already had the best thing this place has to offer."

I blushed and swatted at him, "Go sit down!" I shook my head and prepared the sandwiches I'd been so expertly diverted from before.

We sat and ate in a comfortable silence, but as we finished Eric looked at me and said, "Sookie, when we were talking before," he paused as though looking for the right words. "You said . . . I . . ."

"What Eric?"

"What did you mean by you 'learned at a very early age that sex and emotions are two completely different things?'" And then, it was as if the floodgates opened and he couldn't stop the word vomit. "And what the hell was that shit yesterday about me being someone and you not being worth saving? Do you really think that? And who, the fuck, is Bartlett?"

I'm pretty sure I gasped when he said Bartlett's name. After everything that had happened, I hadn't thought about the fact that he heard, no less remembered, what Bill said in the warehouse. I felt myself retreat.

The rational part of my head told me, "Eric loves you. He wants you. He's bared his soul to you. You need to tell him the truth." While the scared part of me whispered, "No, don't do it! He won't look at you the same way." Apparently I sat there, having my internal debate for some time because, finally, Eric broke my reverie.

"Sookie," he said, and I looked up at him, not even remembering when I'd brought my eyes down to my fingers, which were nervously playing with my napkin. "Baby, please."

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come. Fear strangled them in my throat. Fear that Eric would see me as Bill did—fundamentally damaged. Logically I knew it wasn't the case, but I was conditioned to it because Bill always reminded me that I'd been 'ruined.' Even though I'd been through therapy, and had gotten over my aversion to sex and intimacy, I still couldn't help but resent the feelings of pity that my story engendered. Even when I told the girls that night we were out, I could see the pity in their eyes, and I hated it.

I looked at Eric, and I could see the hurt and disappointment written on his face. He'd just spent the last several days ripping himself open—physically and emotionally—for me, to me, and now I couldn't answer his questions. I dropped my eyes back to my hands. There was nothing but silence for another minute, until I heard the sound of a chair scraping against the floor. My head shot up and I looked up at Eric, who had pushed his chair back and was standing up.

"I'm going to go for a walk," he said, the words thick with frustration and pain, and he turned to leave the kitchen.

When he was at the door, I suddenly blurted out, "I can't have children." I'm not sure why I opened with that statement, except that I suppose it sounds a little better than _I was raped at eight years old._ Eric froze in the doorway and slowly turned to face me, puzzlement on his face. He obviously didn't get where this was coming from, or going to for that matter.

"Bartlett was my great-uncle, Gran's brother." I took a deep breath, and repeated the words I'd only told a few others before. "When I was six, he began molesting me. He would touch me, and tell me I was beautiful and that he loved me. After a while he started to make me touch him too," I let out a shaky breath. "One day, when I was eight he caught me in the living room. I was in my bathing suit, and I remember I was pretending to be Wonder Woman. You know how she would spin around and around and change from Diana Prince to Wonder Woman?" I watched as Eric nodded mutely.

"I was spinning around and around and suddenly, Bartlett was grabbing me. He tried to kiss me and began to put his hands all over me. It was different than the other times. He was rough and he scared me. I managed to break away and I hid in the basement."

I hadn't realized that Eric moved, until I felt his hand on mine and realized he was sitting next to me once more. I couldn't look at him yet, not if I wanted to finish telling him my story. I'd wait until I was done to see his pity, to see that his love wasn't the same as before.

"He found me hiding among some old boxes I'd manage to wedge myself between. He kept saying, 'C'mon baby, where are you? C'mon out, Sookie. You know I love you. You know I want what's best for you.' I tried to make myself small. So small that he wouldn't see me, but he did." I shuddered as I recalled Bartlett's words, and I felt Eric's hand tighten slightly on mine.

"He dragged me out by my ankle. When I tried to hit him with my flashlight, I broke it instead, and it was pitch black in the basement. I didn't really understand what was happening at first. I just knew that I didn't like the way his hands felt on me, and that I didn't like that he tore my bathing suit off. And then came the pain. It felt like I was being torn apart from the inside as he forced himself into me, and the whole time he just kept telling me how much he loved me."

The tears were falling freely now, and I didn't even bother to try to wipe them. "I don't remember how long it went on. I finally passed out, I guess, and when I woke up I was in the hospital. I didn't understand everything the doctors told me, but I did know that Gran made sure Bartlett went to jail. When I was older, Gran sat me down and explained what happened to me. Later, I looked up my medical records, the police report, and the court transcripts. Bartlett had broken my pelvis, and caused enough internal damage that they had to remove my uterus."

With that I was spent. I took a huge shuddering breath and finally looked up at Eric, prepared to see disgust or pity. What I saw instead was pain deep enough to mirror my own. "Sookie," he whispered as he gently wiped the tears from my face. "My love," he whispered again as he pulled me to him, kissing my cheeks, my forehead, the top of my head. "None of that was your fault,baby, and there is nothing wrong with you. You're still perfect. Still perfect," he said quietly and rocked me slowly until my tears stopped.

He helped me up and led me to my room, and then we both lay down on the bed. He held me close, whispering words of love and support until we drifted off to sleep. I woke up with my head on his chest, and it didn't escape me how ironic it was that the first time we finally slept together, we actually just slept. I watched him sleep for a few minutes. He looked so much younger in sleep, when the cares and strains of his life gave up their stranglehold on him for a few hours.

When he opened his eyes he immediately looked down at me and smiled. "Hi beautiful," he said, his voice gravelly with sleep. "I could get used to this," he continued, as his arm pulled me in tighter. "Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?"

"For trusting me."

"I could say the same thing."

He smiled. "Let's go for a walk," he suggested.

I nodded in agreement, but as I tried to slide out of his arms he squeezed and said, "Uh uh, come here first," and he pulled me up to give me a sweet, soft kiss. "Now we can go," he teased. I rolled my eyes playfully at him, and we both slid out of bed. I insisted on checking his bandages, and then made him take some pain medication before we left. I'd noticed his grimace when he got out of bed.

We walked along the lake, hand-in-hand, without speaking for a little while. Eventually we found a broad, flat rock and we sat there, enjoying the last of the sunlight as the day was slowly slipping away, and we talked.

His unbelievably supportive reaction to my story made me feel like I could tell him anything, and so I filled him in on the rest of my past. I told him about the help I'd gotten, and about my relationship with Bill. I could see now, in retrospect, how unhealthy it was, but I'd been so naïve when I started dating Bill. All I saw was someone who wanted me, and didn't care that I couldn't have kids, and didn't care that I wasn't technically a virgin. I told Eric how I thought of myself as a virgin when I graduated high school because even though Bartlett had physically taken that from me, it was not something I'd given or chosen. It was not done with care or love or even just mutual passion. So, in my mind it didn't count. I wasn't saying it didn't happen, but it didn't count as losing my virginity, and believe me, that first time with Bill didn't hurt any less.

It also reminded me of something else. "Bill killed Bartlett," I told Eric. "He admitted it when he had me." And I told him what I knew.

"It's the only good thing that son-of-a-bitch has ever done," Eric muttered.

I looked at him, surprised.

"What?" he asked. "Bartlett didn't deserve to live for what he did to you. No one who does that to a woman, no less to a child deserves to live," he said. "But especially anyone who hurts you," he whispered quietly.

I leaned over and kissed him, because even though I wasn't sure if I agreed with the idea of taking the law into your own hands, I understood the intention behind the sentiment. With Bill it had been because he believed Bartlett had stolen something from him. Eric understood that Bartlett had stolen something from me, and that he could not abide.

Eric told me more about Indira; how they met, how long they were together, and what Felicia thought of her. "God, she really hated her. I don't know how I couldn't see it. Everyone else did," he mused. "She really likes you though," he laughed. "She wasn't going to tell me where you were, or let me anywhere near you until I convinced her that I wasn't going to, in her words, 'fuck with your head' anymore."

I laughed because I could see Felicia saying just that. "You know Amelia is the reason this all started," I blurted out.

"What do you mean?"

"She's the one that convinced me to go to your office that day. God," I said hiding my face in my hands, "that was so embarrassing."

It was Eric's turn to laugh, but then he said, "I've never been happier that someone convinced you to break the rules."

We talked for a while longer as we watched the sunset. I told him about Gran and Jason. He was pretty pissed that Jason was an absent brother, and I told him it was probably better that way as I'd only wind up having to take care of him. Still, I don't think he'll ever forgive Jason for not coming when I was in the hospital. "Family is everything, Sookie. I learned that the hard way, and I'll never take it for granted again. Felicia, Niall, Claudine, they've been my family for the last several years, and I won't let them down," he said vehemently.

Finally it started to get dark and we made our way back to the house. I went to the kitchen to start dinner, and Eric followed me and sat at the table with his laptop taking care of email and other school business. I was going to have to get my head back in the game as well, but I figured I could put things off for another day or so.

"Niall wants to know if we could come to his house for dinner the day after tomorrow," Eric informed me.

"He does? How . . . Claudine," I said answering my own question. Of course she would have told Niall that Eric was here, because without a doubt Felicia told her. "Yes, I'd love to," I replied.

After we ate dinner, I shooed Eric out to the living room. I figured he could handle starting the fireplace since it used a gas line, and I teased that even a gimp could manage that. He quirked an eyebrow, but let it go. I cleaned up quickly and brought our wine out to the living room.

I stood there for a moment, just taking in the sight of Eric sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace. He looked more relaxed than I'd ever seen him, and the firelight was dancing along the skin of his face, casting him in a warm glow that only enhanced his beauty.

"I know you're standing there," he said, and I jumped a little.

"Stop doing that!"

"Well stop smelling so good," he said, and then, "Wait, no, don't!"

I walked over to him and sat beside him. We drank our wine in silence, but when we were finished Eric set his wine glass down, and then took mine from me. His good hand cupped my face and he pulled me to him. His kiss was deep and soft and perfect. His tongue grazed my lips and they parted for him. We kissed until we were both breathless and panting like two teenagers in the backseat of a car.

He pulled back then, but kept his hand on my cheek and said, "Sookie, I want to make love to you. I want to show you what that really is. Will you let me?"

"Yes," I whispered, and my lips found his again.

Eric pushed me back until I was lying down on the rug. Resting his weight on his good arm he leaned over me and kissed me again, before making a trail of wet, warm kisses along my jaw, down my throat, and along the bit of collarbone my shirt exposed. His hips rested against mine and we ground against each other slowly, savoring the friction.

He sat up slightly and began to tug at my shirt. I smiled at his one-handed effort and reached down and lifted it up and off. My bra followed suit. I settled back down and Eric continued his exploration of my body with his mouth. Lips, tongue, even teeth, roved my skin, leaving it burning in his wake. When he sucked my nipple into his mouth, my back arched off the floor, and I cried out first from the sensation, and then in pain because of my broken rib.

"Shit, Sookie! I'm so sorry," Eric said scrambling back.

My hands shot out to stop him. "No! Don't stop," I cried out, and then blushed at what I was sure sounded like desperation. I pulled my bottom lip into my mouth with my teeth.

Eric's thumb reached up and pulled it out. "Don't hurt that beautiful mouth."

I looked into his eyes before parting my lips and pulling his thumb into my mouth, running my tongue around it and sucking. The groan that spilled from his lips sent a tremor through my body. I released his thumb and whispered, "Don't stop, Eric."

"I don't want to hurt you," he said quietly.

"You won't. We just have to be . . . creative," I said with a smirk as I leaned forward and kissed him. I slowly unbuttoned his shirt, and carefully removed it, making sure not to jostle his shoulder too much.

We undressed each other like that, slowly, carefully—hands caressing skin, leaving little trails of fire, fingers tweaking and pinching, sliding against soft, moist places—unbuttoning and carefully shimmying out of our clothes until we faced each other on our knees, naked, panting, and wanting.

His hands grasped, and his fingers traced circles around my nipples before running down my chest to my stomach, circling the outside of my belly button and then on to the lines of my hip. They trailed back up my side, brushing the underside of my breast before moving to the back of my neck and tangling in my hair. Eric brought my face to his, "I love you, Sookie," he breathed against my lips before covering my mouth with his.

I took his lower lip between my teeth and nipped it lightly, then kissed the contours of his jaw and throat. Carefully wrapping my arms around his neck, I brought my chest to his—warm, soft skin and breasts pressed against the hard, muscled planes of his chest, which radiated heat. His nipples were stiff and sensitive, and when I moved my mouth down to capture one he moaned in appreciation. I grazed my teeth against it and Eric's head fell back.

"Jesus," he groaned, and I ran my tongue over the sensitive flesh, soothing it, before moving to the other side.

Eric's prominent erection was pressed up against my stomach, and as I paid homage to his chest I rubbed against him, earning another groan and a thrust of his hips. His head snapped back up and he looked at me, his eyes dark and lusty. He kissed me once more before his fingers began to wend their way across my body, until finally they grazed my very wet sex.

"Ahhh!" I cried out, my pelvis thrusting involuntarily, seeking him, my body already knowing what he could do to it, for it.

As he slid his fingers along my folds he whispered, "So beautiful. You are so beautiful, and I want to spend the rest of my life proving it to you, showing you how perfect you are." His fingers slid into me and I nearly sobbed with relief and pleasure. I shamelessly rode his hand, as he played me perfectly, until he finally crooked his fingers, hitting my sweet spot and I screamed as my orgasm tore through me.

"Fucking beautiful," I heard him say as my blood pounded through my veins and thudded in my ears.

When I was marginally coherent again, I looked up at him and smiled. I pushed against his chest until he got the hint and finally lay down. He looked like a Playgirl centerfold: his long, blond hair splayed out beneath him, his perfectly sculpted chest, not marred by the bandages, but somehow enhanced by them, and the slight trail of light, blond fuzz that ran down from his belly button, framed by a perfect v-cut and pronounced hips, all leading to his perfect, rigid, large, thick, and hard cock. At that moment I wish I had the skill of Michaelangelo or DaVinci, instead of the meager grasp of words that seemed insufficient to describe him. I stared for a minute until I heard him plead, "Please, Sookie."

I smiled at him and moved to straddle him. Placing him at my entrance I, I slid back and forth against him, reveling in the feel of him and expression on his face as he desperately thrust his hips against me. I looked at him before whispering, "I love you Eric," and slowly slid down on him, inch by inch, until he was begging once again and finally, in one strong thrust I slid all the way down, and I cried out in pleasure as I felt him fill me completely.

I ground my hips down and back, and watched with satisfaction as his eyes closed and his head rolled back. I began a slow rhythm; sliding up and a down leisurely, with a slight circling of my hips as I came back down. Soon, his hand slid along my hip, guiding my movements, and he thrust into me in time, our rhythms synchronized, the frenzy of our previous couplings replaced by a perfectly timed dance, which moved to the beat of our blood as it pulsed and flowed under our skin. Slide, grind, graze, circle, buck, thrust, and repeat.

His hand grasped my hip, and he stilled my movements as he sought to reposition himself. He sat up, my legs on either side of him, and his arm moved behind me along my back, supporting me, bracing me, and we moved together; our eyes locked, foreheads touching, sweat slicking our bodies and refracting the light from the fire as it danced on our skin. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and slip-slide of skin on skin, mingled with quiet moans and breathy sighs. The reckless abandon and loud passion of his office, the wine cellar, or the library, replaced by a quiet intensity, a deep, elemental, and all consuming need.

The day in the library I was shown a brief glimpse of what we could be, how perfectly we fit together, but I was wholly unprepared for the onslaught of emotion and pure pleasure I was experiencing. I'd never bought into the myth of individuals being two parts of a single whole, but at that moment I could understand where the sentiment came from. I had no idea where Eric began and I ended—we were a closed circuit of pleasure so exquisite, it bordered on pain.

I felt the slow burn begin in the pit of my stomach and radiate out slowly, until it unfurled with the strength and intensity of a freight train, and when my orgasm hit I screamed out loud, incoherent and babbling.

"Oh God, Sookie," Eric cried out as he thrust a final time and stilled. "Oh fuck. Oh baby," he continued as he rocked with me. I could feel him expand and pulse inside me, prolonging my pleasure as I rocked against him a final time, breathless and sweaty, clinging to him as if I would otherwise drown.

We stayed like that for a minute, catching our breath and basking in the afterglow, until finally our injured bodies began to protest, and slowly slid apart. We lay down together, my head on Eric's chest, covered by the afghan that Eric grabbed off the couch. The fire had burned down, but the coals still glowed red and gave off heat. Eric's hand lazily played with my hair, as my fingers mindlessly played with the light hair on his chest, twisting it gently and smoothing it out.

"Thou art my life, my love, my heart, the very eyes of me, and hast command of every part to live and die for thee."

I felt the tears slipping down my cheeks as he quoted Herrick to me once more, only this time it wasn't a seduction, it was a declaration. " _To Anthea, Who May Command Him Anything_ ," I whispered, as I lifted my head to look at him.

He smiled at me, his thumb moving to wipe the tears from my cheeks. "I love you," he said simply.

I stretched up and kissed him softly, murmuring soft words of love against his lips before resuming my place curled up against his side. I felt my eyes grow heavy, and his breathing begin to even out, and slid blissfully into sleep.

I woke to the feel of his lips on my neck and his fingers moving along my hip. "Oh God," I moaned as he slipped them lower, and I found myself moving in time to his fingers, but before I could even process everything through my sleep induced haze, he moved his hand away, lifted my leg and slid into me. I tried to move, but he held me in place, moving in and out of me, controlling the pace, the intensity, everything.

"I can't get enough of you," he whispered into my neck as he thrust deeply.

My pleasure washed over me, not with the ferocity of the night before, but with a quiet intensity, slowly spreading warmth through my body, suffusing my limbs with languid satisfaction, until I was boneless and liquid. Eric followed a few moments later, his face buried in my hair, muffling his sounds, but I could still feel them reverberate through me.

When I could speak again I turned my head to him and said, "You can wake me up like that anytime."

"You may regret telling me that," he said grinning, before kissing me thoroughly.

We'd spent the night on the rug, and both of groaned slightly as we got up, but smiled at each other sheepishly, neither of us regretting it. Wrapped in nothing but throws from the couch, we kept breakfast simple; coffee, toast, and a little bacon, but by the time we were through, the meal had devolved into a minor food fight and we were both covered in butter and jam, and desperate for a shower. Of course Eric had other ideas about what we should be doing, but I twisted out of his grasp, smacked him on his perfect ass, and ran naked toward my room shrieking, as an equally naked Eric chased me through the house.

The entire day was spent like that; making love, eating, playing, talking, and napping. In the afternoon my phone rang, and a moment later so did Eric's. We each answered and then looked at each other as we held them to our ears. The detectives in charge of the case against Bill wanted us to come in to sign our statements, and to ask us a few more questions. We told them we'd come by the following afternoon, figuring we could take care of it before going to Niall's.

The calls dampened our mood somewhat, but we still spent the night quietly in each other's arms, taking comfort in the warmth and closeness. I woke up just before dawn, my nerves about going to the police station waking me too soon. I slipped out of the bed quietly, and tiptoed to the kitchen and made some coffee. Wrapping myself in the afghan on the couch, I stepped outside with my coffee and watched as the sky began to turn pink at the edges. I felt a pair of arms wrap around me and pull me close, but Eric didn't say a word as we watched the sunrise.

He kissed me gently on the cheek. "Are you okay?" he asked.

I nodded. "Just a little nervous."

"I'll be there the whole time," he said squeezing lightly.

I turned in his arms and gasped as I suddenly realized he wasn't wearing his sling. "Eric, your shoulder!"

"I'm fine, baby. I just needed to stretch a little. I'll put it back on before we leave."

I smiled and kissed him before snuggling up against his chest. He grabbed the edges of the blanket and wrapped it around us both, cocooning us warmth. I won't lie. It felt really, really good to be held by him, and not just by one arm.

The day seemed to speed by as we took care of a variety of sundry and necessary things. I washed Eric's things as he hadn't come very prepared and most of the clothes that he'd previously left at the house were summer wear. We both had to take care of school related business, and I managed to do a bit of writing for the paper Adam and I were working on.

I spoke to Thalia for a while, filling her in on what was happening and listening to her excited squeals of joy. She and Adam were genuinely happy for us, and it felt good to know that at least one of Eric's colleagues was going to support our relationship.

Before we knew it, it was time to leave. At some point the day before Eric's car had been delivered and the keys left in the mailbox. When I quirked a brow at him, he just shrugged and said, "Felicia took care of it."

I brought a bag with me, because Eric said he wanted to stay at the townhouse that night. It had been a few days since he'd been there and seen his mother. He insisted that I stay with him, and frankly I didn't take much convincing. I had no desire to be separated from him.

The drive into the city was quiet. We were both tense and introspective, but we held hands, relying on each other for support and comfort. When we got there we met with the detectives. Eric wanted to stay with me, but they insisted on questioning us separately, saying they didn't want our stories to influence each other. They wanted everything done by the book so Bill's lawyers wouldn't be able to attack any part of the case.

They asked me a bunch of questions, some of which I'd already answered at the hospital, but then they started asking about Bartlett, I felt myself begin to panic. I didn't want to talk about it with them, but I'd told them what Bill admitted and they needed to ask.

"Can't you just read the reports?" I asked them.

The detectives were members of SVU and understood the difficulty I was having. They asked if I would feel more comfortable with Eric there, and agreed to wait until the other detectives were done questioning him. When Eric finally showed up, I grabbed at his hand and he pulled me into the protective circle of his arms.

Detective Du Rhone looked at me. "I'm sorry to ask this, but I have to. Did you know that Mr. Compton intended to kill Mr. Hale?"

"What the hell is going on here?" Eric asked.

"They want to know if I had anything to do with Bill killing Uncle Bartlett."

"Son-of-a-bitch," Eric ground out. "Don't say another word Sookie, I'm calling my lawyer."

I knew I hadn't done anything wrong, but Eric's advice seemed good and I told them I wouldn't answer any more questions until I had a lawyer present. Eric's lawyer showed up about an hour later, we spoke for about half an hour, and then the questioning resumed. The detectives weren't trying to make a case against me, and in the end the questions were not too difficult, but I was glad Mr. Cataliades was there. It also showed me the possibility that Bill's defense lawyers would be trying to shift the blame for Bartlett's murder on me—something neither the detectives nor Mr. Cataliades were too concerned about, but which still made my stomach roil.

All told we were at the station for nearly four hours, and when we finally made our way out, I was exhausted.

"Are you sure you still want to go to Niall's? I can call him. He'd understand," Eric said.

I smiled at him. "No. It's okay, really," I assured him. "It'll be good to see him and Claudine."

He leaned over and kissed me gently. "I'm so proud of you," he said. "You are the bravest person I know."

I felt my blush start and Eric laughed lightly, kissing me on the nose. "I love when you blush like that." Then, in a huskier voice, "You have no idea what it does to me."

My blush deepened at his words and I heard him groan in response. "Stop that," he whispered, "or I won't be held responsible for my actions."

I smiled at him and kissed him. "You're just going to have to hold on to that thought Mr. Northman."

"Mr. Northman?" he asked, quirking a brow at me.

I smiled wickedly. "Sorry. _Professor_ Northman," I said, intentionally making my voice lower, more seductive.

"Fuck," he whispered, and he pulled me against him, letting me feel exactly what my words had just done to him.

We reached his car and I turned to face him just as he pinned me against it and lowered his face to mine. "I can't wait to bend you over my desk," he said before he captured my mouth with his. My hips moved against his, involuntarily. "Sookie," he growled dangerously.

"Yes?" I asked innocently.

"Get your ass in the car before I get arrested."

I laughed and slid into my seat as he held the door open. I watched as he got into the driver's seat, and had to rearrange himself. I giggled.

"Oh, you think that's funny do you?"

"No," I said, but couldn't hold a straight face.

He growled playfully. "Just you wait until we're alone," he threatened.

I felt my stomach lurch in anticipation and my tongue involuntarily darted out to lick my lips. Suddenly a wicked thought crossed my mind, and I undid my seat belt.

"Sookie? What are you doing?"

I said nothing as I leaned across the center console and flicked open the button on Eric's jeans. His sharp intake of breath told me he knew exactly what I planned on doing. "Oh shit," he whispered.

When my mouth finally descended on him, he groaned loudly. "Oh God!"

I loved the feel and taste of him in my mouth, and I hadn't been able to enjoy it since that day in Niall's wine cellar. It made me feel powerful, in control. Sexy. As I slid up and down, my tongue wrapping around his tip and lapping up what was leaking there, I felt myself get wet. I wriggled in response and moaned around him.

"Shit, Sookie!"

I hollowed out my cheeks and sucked him into my mouth. The steering wheel prevented me from taking him as deeply as I would have liked, but I continued to work my way up and down his length, enjoying the feel of him in my mouth.

Suddenly, the car jerked to the right and pulled off on the side of the road. Eric's seat suddenly moved back and his fingers made their way into my hair. He thrust into my mouth a few times, before pulling me off.

"Come here," he growled, pulling me onto his lap.

He lifted my skirt, pushed aside my panties and thrust into me.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he asked. "I can't . . . I don't . . . FUCK!" he shouted out as I slammed my body down on his. "I can't control myself around you," he grunted. "I've never been so out of control," he continued as his hand tightened its grip on my hair and his hips bucked upwards. "You drive me crazy, Sookie. I want you all the time. I think about you _all_ the time," he groaned.

"Eric," I panted, "I . . . I . . ." and I couldn't finish my thought as I came, convulsing around him, screaming his name.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Eric screamed as he followed soon after, his good hand grabbing my hip and holding me still as he thrust and grunted and spilled into me. "Sookie," he whimpered, "I can't . . . you . . . Jesus," he practically sobbed against my shoulder. "I love you so much, baby. So much."

"I love you too," I whispered against his neck.

After a few minutes spent catching our breath, I climbed back into my seat and straightened myself out as best I could. Eric finally put the car in gear and guided us back onto the highway. He looked at me sideways and said, "You are something else."

I grinned but said nothing.

A short time later we arrived at Niall's. Claudine practically screamed when we came to the door, and I was dragged off to the kitchen for some girl time. We chatted as we put the finishing touches on dinner, and when we brought it out to the table, I couldn't help but smile at the look Eric gave me. It was equal parts love and surprise, as if he couldn't really believe I was there. I knew exactly how he felt.

Dinner was wonderful, as always, and the conversation flowed effortlessly. There wasn't a single awkward moment, and I loved Niall a little more for it by the end of the meal. After we were done eating, while Niall and Claudine readied the coffee, I excused myself to use the restroom. On the way back I passed Niall's library and couldn't help but go in and look around. I loved books so much, and being surrounded by them always brought me a sense of comfort.

I was walking past the bookshelves, running my fingers along the spines of the books, just enjoying the feel of them under my fingertips, until suddenly, I heard a voice. "That shelf is all original printings."

Eric's voice carried through the room, and although I knew it was him, he'd still startled me and I squeaked as I spun around clutching my chest.

"Cowbell. Definitely a cowbell," I muttered. "You have to stop doing that to me. You're going to give me a heart attack."

He snickered and walked over to me. "Coffee is ready," he said as he kissed me gently.

I smiled up at him. "Okay, let's go," I said and grabbed his hand. We began to walk out of the room, when I brushed against Niall's desk and knocked over a picture frame. I stopped to set it right and felt the breath leave my body in a woosh. I stared at the picture in my hand.

"Sookie? Sookie?" Eric's voice seemed very far away.

I continued to stare at the picture. I could hear other voices now.

"Eric? What's wrong?" Niall's voice cut through the haze.

I turned to face him and held out the picture. "What . . . This . . ." Tears began to prick the corners of my eyes and I took a deep breath. "Why do you have a picture of my Gran?"

Niall blanched and Eric looked back and forth between us, clearly confused.

"Your Gran? Adele is your grandmother?" Niall asked.

"Oh God," I moaned, clutching the picture to me. "Oh my God," I muttered once more, before I felt myself being pulled under and I fainted dead away.


	27. Chapter 27

Waking up with my arms around Sookie was the most incredible experience of my life. Well, the second most incredible experience. The first was making love to her the night before. It wasn't a blow job under my desk, or a quick fuck in the library—although both of those experiences had merit, even if one was cut short, and both deserved replays, many, many replays—but it was more than that. Never in all my years and experience with women had I felt the simple contentment and pure bliss that I felt when making love to Sookie. I'd experienced physical pleasure, and with Felicia it had always been a little more than that, but with Sookie it was transcendental, and I felt at peace and happy for the first time in longer than I cared to remember.

Shit, she was turning me into a hippie.

When I woke up the next morning, I just watched her sleep for a while. Her hair was splayed out behind her, and her breast was just showing where the blanket had slipped down. Her face had the peaceful look of abandon that a child's does in sleep. She moved and the blanket slipped further, revealing her perfect breast. My fingers ghosted across it, and I watched as even in sleep her nipple reacted to my touch and hardened. I wanted to lift her leg and just slide into her, but after what she'd revealed to me the day before, I couldn't take her like that. I couldn't take away her right to say no.

Instead, I began to kiss her neck and her shoulder, caressing her lightly with my fingers. My rock hard dick was pressed firmly against her ass, and it was an effort of will not to rock into her and generate friction. I watched as her eyelids fluttered and her skin broke out in gooseflesh. My fingers traced a path down to her hip, and when I heard her groan, "Oh, God," I knew that what I was doing was more than fine. My fingers found her sex and slipped in, and I reveled in the wet, hot feel of her. It was only then, that I finally did as I'd wanted earlier, and I lifted her leg and slid into her.

I would never have enough of her, and I told her so. Our lovemaking was slow, quiet, and when I came it was like a warm wave washed over and through me, and carried me away. The rest of the day was perfect; and we spent it playfully and intimately, and I hoped we'd have many more like it. For the first time ever, I considered taking a long sabbatical, and imagined spending my days making love to Sookie, everywhere: in my house, in my bed, or the townhouse in my library, or on the beach, or, I grinned, back in the library, or my office.

The police station was an uncomfortable experience, and I was pissed as all hell when they began to insinuate that Sookie may have had something to do with her uncle's death. After my lawyer, Mr. Cataliades, showed up, however, it was clear the detectives were simply being thorough and never thought Sookie had anything to do with it. Not for the first time, I wished the son-of-a-bitch was still alive so I could have the pleasure of putting him down myself.

When Sookie told me about what her great-uncle had done to her, I was sickened. Not by her, although it was obvious she thought I would be. I was appalled that someone could do that to a child. You hear about it, on the news or on talk shows, but it's never someone you know, someone you love.

That day in class after Thanksgiving, when I'd seen what Bill did to her, paled in comparison to the rage I felt at what Bartlett had done to her. What a sick, sick fuck. Who does that to a child? Who looks at an undeveloped little body like that and is turned on? I got nauseous just thinking about it. And Sookie's resilience in the face of what she'd endured made me love her more.

Suddenly, her entire relationship with Bill took on new meaning. Her need to feel wanted and safe, trumped her happiness. She believed no one would—or could—ever want her, so to her, Bill seemed a gift. And Bill, that manipulative, abusive, piece-of-shit excuse for a man played right into her insecurities. He'd get his comeuppance though. I'd make sure of it.

When we finally left the station, I told Sookie how proud of her I was. She was the most remarkable person I knew. To have gone through everything she'd gone through, and still have the beauty of soul and strength of spirit she did was as testament, not only to her, but to her Gran as well. Not for the first time, I wished I could have met the incredible woman who raised Sookie and helped her to emerge from that hell as intact as she was.

I knew Sookie still had issues, but overall her attitude towards life, love and sex, was remarkable. Oh, and did I mention her attitude towards sex? I think I may have found someone with a bigger libido than mine, and that was saying something. What she did to me at, and in, the car? I nearly caused an accident. I've had my share of head. And I've even had my share of road head. But road head from Sookie? Fucking hell. I could barely keep my hands on the wheel or my eyes from rolling back into my head.

The need I had for her was consuming and, at times, I felt almost desperate for her. I pulled her onto my lap, needy as a teenager at a drive-in, and thrust into her just as mindlessly. Still, she was ready for me, and feeling that, knowing that just having me in her mouth had turned her on so much, left me incoherent. I babbled as she rode me in the car; muttering about my lack of control and constant desire for her. I'm sure I sounded like a love-struck idiot, but it was the truth. She left me tongue tied and wanting; all the time wanting her.

When we finally arrived at Niall's, I felt like a teenage boy. I was sure we reeked of sex, and thought we must have looked disheveled and well-worn, but neither he nor Claudine even quirked a brow. If they suspected anything, they were being very discreet about it. Especially Claudine, and discretion was not one of her fortes.

Dinner was lovely, and I couldn't stop staring at Sookie. I was, quite simply, happy. Happy. The word had been meaningless and distant for so long, but sitting there watching Sookie and Claudine, enjoying a good meal with my family of choice, I was content. For the first time in a decade I was joyful, and I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. As always, Niall was the perfect host, and he made every effort to ensure that Sookie was comfortable and relaxed.

After dinner Sookie wandered off to use the restroom, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't contemplate how to follow her discretely. Instead, I busied myself helping Claudine clear the table, while Niall prepared the coffee.

"You both look so happy, Eric," Claudine said as she carried several plates to the sink.

"We are," I said. "At least, I am, and I think Sookie is too," I hedged.

Claudine laughed at me. "Oh, she is, Eric! She's practically glowing!" Claudine pulled me into a tight hug, and when she let me go there were tears shining in her eyes.

"Hey! What's this?" I asked as my thumb brushed a bit of moisture from her face.

"I'm just . . ." she laughed, "glad for you both."

We laughed at her lack of originality, and hugged once more. Finally Niall announced that the coffee was ready, and I went off in search of Sookie. I had a feeling I'd find her in the library, and Niall's library was definitely worth seeing. I loved the library at my parents' home, but Niall's? The number of first edition works, and original printings was mind boggling. I don't think there was another collection to rival his, outside of national libraries and museums.

When I found her in his library, Sookie shrieked. "Cowbell. Definitely a cowbell," she muttered. "You have to stop doing that to me. You're going to give me a heart attack."

I had to admit that I liked being able to sneak up on her like that, and my dirty mind thought of all the ways I could use that to my advantage. I had to adjust myself at the thought.

"Coffee is ready," I told her with a kiss.

But then she knocked over a frame, and suddenly it was like she wasn't even there. I'm not even sure she heard me calling her name. Niall came into the room and my heart plummeted as I heard her ask, "Why do you have a picture of my Gran?" just before she fainted.

I caught Sookie around the waist before she hit the ground, but with my other arm in the sling, I couldn't do more than just support her weight. Niall and Claudine ran to my side to help me, and the three of us got Sookie situated on the couch. Seeing her like that terrified me. I didn't know if she'd fainted just from the shock of what she'd discovered, or if her injuries had been aggravated by our erotic pit stop on the way to Niall's.

I said her name a few times, but she was unresponsive. Claudine left the room and came back with a wet washcloth, and dabbed at Sookie's forehead and wrists with the cool towel. I looked over Sookie, then at Niall, but his eyes were fixed on her, concern etched on his face. I brushed Sookie's hair from her face, and pleaded with her to wake up.

Frankly, I wasn't surprised she fainted. We'd had an emotional few days, to say the least. Each of us unloading our emotional baggage was exhausting, but necessary.

"Why isn't she waking up?" I asked.

"She's had quite a shock, I imagine," Niall said. "Give her a few more minutes."

I looked down into the face of the woman I loved, the woman who rescued me from my own misery and self-hate, and instead of seeing her pale and drawn, I pictured her flushed and smiling from the orgasm she'd had only a couple hours before. Of course, that brought up a host of other images that were wholly inappropriate at that exact moment.

Wholly inappropriate, but still the images kept dancing in front of my eyes. I kept picturing her bouncing on my lap in the seat of my car; the way her head tilted back, her eyes closed and mouth parted as she panted, just before she came screaming my name. And God, the way she felt as she clenched around me, nothing ever felt so good. I shook my head to dispel the thoughts, and willed my dick back into submission.

I kissed her forehead and called her name again, and slowly her eyelids began to flutter, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I think we all did. Slowly her eyes opened and at first she seemed a little confused. When she saw me, she smiled but then her eyes moved across and took in Claudine and Niall, and the smile faded a little.

"Niall—"

"Sookie, I know you have questions, and I'm happy to answer all of them, but let's get you something to drink first, okay?" Niall suggested in a tone that brooked no real argument.

When Sookie nodded he looked at Claudine and said, "Brandy, all around I think."

After we'd all been served, and I made Sookie take a nice, bracing swallow of brandy, Niall began to talk.

He told Sookie the same story he told me, and from the look on Claudine's face, I don't think she'd ever heard the entire story about Adele.

"You never said," Claudine began. "You just said she was a friend."

"What year was it?" Sookie suddenly asked.

"What?" Niall replied.

Sookie stood and paced a little bit. "What year was it when you were together? What month did you end it?"

Niall told her, and I watched Sookie's face as she processed the information. Her brow wrinkled as she thought, and then she blanched.

"Oh my God!" she said and sat down, hard.

"Sookie?" I asked as I took her hand. "What is it?"

She didn't answer me, just looked at Niall. "I wasn't meant to know. I was coming to their room to ask them a question, and I overheard Gran and Grandpa talking. I'd obviously come into the middle of a conversation, so I didn't hear the entire thing, and I was about to walk away, when Grandpa said, 'You know it never mattered to me. I always loved them just like they were my own.'

I never said anything, until after my grandfather died. Gran and I were sitting in the kitchen after the funeral, and I don't know why but I remembered that conversation, and I asked her about it."

Sookie took a breath, and another sip of her brandy. "Grandpa couldn't have kids. After Gran had Daddy and Aunt Linda, they were twins, Gran and Grandpa tried for more, but it turned out he couldn't. He knew she was pregnant when he married her, but he didn't care. They'd been high school sweethearts before she left for college. He'd loved her for a long, long time, and when she came home, he was still there, waiting for her."

Niall's face was white as a sheet. "What are you saying, Sookie?"

"I'm saying, I think you," her voice broke. "I think you're my biological grandfather."

"Oh my God," Claudine breathed, and her eyes were shining with tears.

"She never said anything," Niall whispered and then shook his head. "Although, I never gave her a chance to. I was such a fool."

"She wouldn't have told you," Sookie continued. "I asked her why she didn't tell you, although I didn't know who 'you' were, she never said, just that it was someone at school. Anyway, I asked her and she said she didn't want you to feel trapped, that you had enough to worry about. She said that if it was meant to be, you would find us again when the time was right."

"Sookie," Niall began, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"Just . . . just give me a minute, please," she pleaded as she stood and turned away.

I came up behind her and wrapped my arm around her, resting my chin on her shoulder. "Baby?"

She turned to face me, eyes glistening and smiled. "It's okay," she whispered.

She walked around me to Niall, who sat with his hands clasped and eyes down. Sookie sat next to him and put a hand on his.

"You must hate me," Niall said to her.

"No. Oh no!" she said. "I could never hate you. And Gran didn't either."

Niall looked at her, "How is that possible? I left her. I left her alone and pregnant and—"

"And nothing," Sookie said vehemently. "She came back home, married a wonderful man, and raised a happy family. _I_ would not be here if that didn't happen."

"So she was happy? He, your grandfather, he made her happy?"

Sookie was thoughtful for a moment. "Yes, she was happy. It may not have been the way she loved you, but she loved my grandfather, and they had a good life."

"Good," Niall said, squeezing Sookie's hand. "Good."

Sookie looked down for a minute. "I understand if you want to take a DNA test—"

"No!" Niall nearly shouted. "No," he repeated quieter. "Adele would not have lied about it."

I could see that Sookie was impressed with Niall's attitude. I think that, perhaps, she expected some resistance and that his acceptance was a pleasant surprise.

"You have a grandson as well," Sookie continued. Niall's face registered shock. "My brother, Jason."

We spent the next several hours sitting in Niall's study, as Sookie, Niall, and Claudine exchanged stories and familiarized each other more intimately with their lives. By the time we left, Sookie was exhausted and we fell into bed as soon as we got to the townhouse.

When I woke up the morning, her side of the bed was empty. I got up, used the bathroom and went looking for her. When I reached the kitchen, I poured myself a cup of coffee. Sarah walked in and I asked her if she'd seen Sookie.

"She's upstairs," came Sarah's reply.

"No, she's—"

Sarah eyed me knowingly. "Miss Stackhouse took a tray upstairs . . ."

But I didn't even let her finish her sentence before I was sprinting up the stairs, two at a time. I ran down the hall and skidded to a stop at the door. The scene before me nearly brought me to my knees. Sookie was sitting on the edge of my mother's bed, drinking her coffee and talking to my mother.

I slid down to the floor just outside the door and listened to the one-sided conversation, as Sookie introduced herself to my mother, and began to talk to her about me, and herself, and she just . . . talked, as if it were normal to do so. I hadn't thought that I could love Sookie any more until that moment.

I sat there for about twenty minutes as Sookie carried on, treating my mother as a conscious invalid, instead of a comatose shell. When she emerged from the room she practically tripped over my feet.

"Eric?" she said as she knelt beside me. Her fingers stroked my cheeks, wiping away tears I hadn't realized were falling. "What's wrong?"

"What did I ever do to deserve you?" I asked, because I needed to know. It wasn't as though I'd been a horrible person, but after Indira I had certainly withdrawn from, and had little concern for, the people around me, except for a select few. I couldn't even remember the last time I cared what charities my accountants were using for tax deductions. And before Indira, I'd been too young to care about anything more than having fun and getting laid. So I could say with certainty that I hadn't a clue what I'd done to have someone like Sookie by my side.

"Silly man," she whispered as she leaned over and kissed me gently. "You love me; all of me," she answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"So much," I breathed against her mouth. "So very much."

We spent two days at the townhouse, and Sookie quickly settled into the routine of the house, and helped Sarah and the nurses care for my mother, leaving me to take care of some work related matters. We also both went to the doctor for follow up visits. My shoulder was healing nicely, and I no longer needed to wear the sling, although he prescribed some light physical therapy to help it heal quicker. Sookie called her brother while we were at the townhouse, and revealed everything her grandmother had told her, as well as the fact that she'd serendipitously found Niall.

To say that Jason didn't take the news well was an understatement. He was mad at Sookie for keeping his grandparents' secret. He was mad at Niall for leaving their grandmother "in a delicate way," as he put it. And, he was mad because no one had told him what was going on with Bill until after Sookie was out of the hospital, or that Sookie had a "beau." Still, he agreed to meet with us the following week and, agreed to consider meeting Niall as well.

"Is he really that old fashioned?" I asked Sookie after we hung up with him.

She laughed. "I suppose in a way he is at that. Although I think the term would be more Neanderthal, and less 'old fashioned,'" she said as she laughed at the expression on my face.

"Do I need to worry about a shotgun wedding?" I joked.

Her giggles became peals of laughter, and all thoughts of Jason Stackhouse and his Southern sensibilities flew out the window, as I slanted my lips across hers. Her mouth opened for me, and our kisses grew more passionate, more intense, until I was thrusting against her, dry humping her like a seventeen year old.

"Want you," I whispered against her neck, as I licked and nipped at the tender flesh.

"Mmmmm," she responded, but then snapped her head up and looked around the library. "Eric! Sarah is in the other room! She could walk in!"

"Don't care," I mumbled as I sucked on the lobe of her ear. "Want you. Need you. Now."

"Eric," she sighed into my mouth as I recaptured her lips, her protest half-hearted.

I pressed her back against the leather couch, fitting my hips between her legs and grinding against her, enjoying the feel of her rolling her hips against me in return. I slipped my hand under the hem of her shirt, stroking the soft skin of her stomach and rubbing circles along her hips where they peeked out of her pants.

I pulled at the drawstring and then tugged at the tight-fitting yoga pants, until she lifted her hips and I was able to slide them all the way down her legs and off. I pulled her forward, to the edge of the couch, and ran my cheek along the inside of her thigh, reveling in the feel of silky skin against my rougher.

Breathy moans and squirming hips greeted me as I brought my face between her legs, teasing her through the thin scrap of fabric still covering her. I licked along the edge of the fabric until I heard her growl, "Eric!" and felt her fingers tighten in my hair, tugging at my scalp. I grinned and slid the lace aside, revealing her bare lips, glistening, pink, and swollen with need. I skimmed my nose along the crease between her legs and her pelvis, enjoying the smell of her—that same citrus and jasmine scent that drove me crazy from the minute I met her, mixed with the heady scent of sex and woman.

It drove me no less wild then, and the throbbing between my legs increased; a relentless, pulsing rhythm.

And then, finally, it was soft, plump lips against mine; my tongue delving and tasting and stroking, as she writhed and bucked against my mouth. I brought her legs up on my shoulders and one of my hands curled around her thigh to hold her in place, while the other slid further up. Fingers replaced tongue, and I groaned at the feel and heat of her. Latching on to her clit, I flicked and sucked and circled in time with my fingers, until I heard her keening wail and felt her muscles clenching inside, rewarding me with a warm flow of moisture that I eagerly lapped.

I barely managed to unbutton my jeans and get them down enough to release myself, before I grabbed her hips and thrust into her. Her arms were above her head, holding onto the back of the couch for leverage as she rolled her hips forward and back, meeting me at every stroke. It was hard and fast, and the culmination of more than one fantasy, but it was also filled with love and passion, and when we were both coming down from our mutual release, we began all over again, never able to get enough of each other.

The second time was slow, languid, and intense. Skin slid against skin, sweat slicked and warm, while quiet, breathy moans filled the room. I pulled her down to the floor with me, and watched as she rode me with undulating hips and murmured words of love, until I felt her clench and shudder around me. I grabbed her hips and with a few more quick thrusts I was muttering expletives and pulling her to my chest.

After a moment, I made to shift but heard Sookie say, "No. Don't move. I want you to stay inside me."

I groaned, and felt myself twitch half-heartedly at her words, because as much of a turn on as it was, there was no way I was ready for round three yet. So we lay there for a little while, and we must have drifted off, because we were awakened by the sound of knocking.

"Sir?" Sarah's voice carried through the door.

I heard Sookie give a muffled "eep" as she buried her face in my neck, obviously embarrassed. "I told you she was right there," she whispered.

I laughed and said, "Yes, Sarah?"

"You have a visitor. Miss Fel—"

"Is here," came Felicia's voice as she strode into the room.

"Felicia!" both Sookie and I shouted, as I grabbed the throw off the couch and threw it over us.

Her throaty laugh floated through the room as she walked over and sat on the chair opposite us. Sookie's skin was flushed pink with embarrassment, and she clutched the blanket to her chest. I couldn't help but laugh, which earned me a glare.

"Oh get over it, Sookie," Felicia teased. "Neither one of you has anything I haven't seen before."

 _That_ earned me a quirked eyebrow, and I realized I was going to have some "splaining" to do later, and I glared at Felicia.

"What do you want, _petite crotte_?"

Felicia rolled her eyes. "Nothing. I just missed you two," she said with an exaggerated sigh. "Plus, I came to tell Sookie that we're probably going to have to plan a wedding shower."

"What?!" Sookie yelled.

"Tray asked me to help him pick a ring for Amelia," Felicia explained. "He was going to ask you, but with everything that's been going on, he didn't want to bother you."

"Oh my God," Sookie squealed. "I can't believe he's finally doing it."

"Honestly?" Felicia said. "I think it's what happened with you two that made the decision for him. He realized that he was taking things for granted."

"Tray's a great guy," Sookie said. "He's good for Amelia, and he was really there for me, ya know?" she said to Felicia, and I felt like I was missing something.

"I know," Felicia responded with a smile.

I looked at Sookie for an explanation.

"Tray is the one who pulled Bill off me after Thanksgiving," she explained. "He also had his friends come and 'deal' with Bill, and he stayed with me until Amelia came home."

"Oh yeah, they dealt with him, alright." I looked at her, trying not to remember the mark he left on her the year before. "You never came back to class," I winced slightly at the memory of why she hadn't returned. "But Bill did, and it was obvious someone had worked him over pretty well."

"Anyway," Felicia began, pulling us away from the ugly past. "I thought we could spend some time together and plan her shower, because you know she's going to say yes."

"Of course she is," Sookie giggled, rolling her eyes. "And I'd love to be a fly on the wall when she tells her father."

"Why?" I asked.

"Oh, well Cope and Amelia don't really see eye to eye, and he doesn't exactly approve of Tray," she explained. "He wants her to marry one of the country club set."

I laughed. "I don't know her well, but even _I_ know that'll never happen."

As we sat there laughing and talking, I was overwhelmed by the sense of . . . rightness of the situation. This is how it should have been; me, Sookie, Felicia, Niall, Claudine, and maybe Amelia and Tray. I wanted to kick myself for having wasted so much time; time that could have been spent filled with love and friends.

Eventually, Sookie convinced Felicia to leave the room so we could get dressed, and the three of us had an early supper before I left Sookie and Felicia talking over coffee at the kitchen table, discussing weddings and showers.

The next day we headed back to the lake house. We didn't discuss living arrangements, but I knew I didn't want to be apart from Sookie even for a night. I wanted to take her back to my home, which she had not yet seen, and keep her there, but I was afraid if I asked her to move in, she would say no. I decided to wait until after we'd met with her brother, and things with Niall had been straightened out.

Sookie and I settled into an easy routine at the lake. We both usually woke early, and enjoyed our coffee outside, watching the morning mist burn off the lake, and enjoying the still quiet of the morning, before the noises from other homes and cars began to echo around the water. Then, we would grab a quick breakfast and work in companionable silence for a few hours, until it was time for lunch. After, we would just spend time together; talking, reading, or making love.

Later that week we met with Jason over lunch, and to say that at first it was awkward would be an understatement. Sookie's description of Jason as a Neanderthal wasn't too far off the mark, and I couldn't help but wonder how the two of them could possibly be related. However, after Sookie put him in his place, reminding him that although he was her older brother he was about as reliable as an Italian car, he settled down and put aside the overbearing-older-brother routine.

Surprisingly, he was less antagonistic about Niall than we first thought. He told us that he'd thought about it over the week, and that he knew their grandmother had been happy. He also realized that he and Sookie wouldn't even exist if circumstances were different. I almost gave him credit for being deeper than I originally thought, but then he ruined it by going off on a tangent about how changing the past would make him disappear, like Michael J. Fox in Back to the Future, and I bit back my laughter.

In the end, however, I discovered that the similarities between Sookie and Jason had more to do with a sweetness of spirit and sunny disposition, than intelligence or bearing. Jason was handsome, charming, and charismatic, and even though we wouldn't be discussing the merits of Sookie and Adam's paper with him (or even the artistic merits of Dr. Seuss for that matter) there was still something that was, ultimately, engaging about him.

Things did take a serious turn though when they discussed Bill. "That no account son-of-a-bitch," he railed. "I'm so sorry I ever introduced you to him, Sook." Sookie hadn't had it in her to tell him that the only reason Bill had befriended Jason in the first place, was to get to her. "And to think," he continued. "I'd even given him my blessing to marry you."

"What?" Sookie asked, her face going noticeably pale. "When?"

"Right before you broke up. That's why I never understood what happened."

I looked at Sookie. "But didn't he—"

"Didn't he what?" Jason interrupted.

Sookie let out a sigh. "I broke up with him because he was cheating on me."

"Mother-fucker! He was cheating on you when he asked me for your hand? That sick son-of-a-bitch. And then coming after you like that . . . Damn it, Sook. I'm so sorry."

Sookie placed her hand on her brother's and said, "Stop it Jason Stackhouse. It's not your fault. Bill is a sick man. I was with him for two years and even I didn't see it. There's no way you could have."

Jason was easily diverted from his self-flagellation, and when Sookie waved the dessert menu in front of his face, all thoughts of Bill Compton fled. Just as we placed our order, Felicia walked over to the table.

"Eric! Sookie!" she greeted us each with a kiss and then turned her most charming smile on Jason. "And you must be Jason," she said as she extended her hand. "It is so nice to finally meet you."

Sookie had to hide her smile behind her hand, and it took and effort of will on my part not to laugh aloud at the gobsmacked expression on Jason's face. Jason jumped up and pulled out a chair. "Won't you join us?" he asked, pulling out the Southern charm. Felicia made a show of considering it for a moment, telling us she just finished a business meeting, when really I could already see her sizing up all the ways she was going to use and abuse the man I hoped would be my future brother-in-law.

Yes. I said future brother-in-law.

If there was one thing I learned from what Sookie and I had gone through, it was that I was done wasting time. I was done letting life go on around me. I was going to live my life, and the only person I wanted to live it with was sitting across from me with a playful smile on her face, as she watched my best friend prepare to eat her brother alive.

When lunch ended, Jason and Felicia made up some excuse to share a cab, and Sookie and I exchanged knowing glances. The cab pulled away from the restaurant, and the two of us started laughing as we began walking hand-in-hand toward the townhouse.

"Oh, it's about time he met his match," she giggled, wiping away a tear from laughter.

"God, I hope that doesn't make things awkward at the wedding," I said, and I felt a tug on my hand as she stopped walking.

"What did you just say?" she asked.

I turned with a smirk on my face. "I said, I hope whatever happens between them today doesn't make things awkward at the wedding."

"But . . . What . . . I mean . . . What wedding?" she finally whispered.

"Ours," I whispered back.

Her eyes widened and pooled with tears. I pulled her close and brushed my lips lightly against hers. "Marry me Sookie Stackhouse," I breathed against her. "Please, please, please," I repeated between kisses.

For a moment she said nothing . . . did nothing . . . and I nearly panicked. Then she kissed me back and whispered, "Yes, yes, yes!" before jumping up and wrapping her legs around my waist. "Oh God, yes!" she repeated.

I couldn't get us back to the townhouse fast enough, and when we burst through the front door, Sookie cradled in my arms like she was already a bride, laughing hysterically, we scared poor Sarah to death, prompting another round of laughter from us both as I hurried up the stairs to my room and tossed Sookie on the bed.

She sat up, resting on her elbows, and looked at me with her lip between her teeth.

"Say it again," I demanded.

She grinned and said, "Yes."

I think I growled as I crawled over the bed to her. "Again," I begged.

"Yes," she said with a growl of her own. "Now get your ass over here!"

I grabbed her by the back of the neck and kissed her, hard. "You wanted something?"

Her hand reached down to grip me through my jeans. "This," she murmured against my mouth. "I want this."

"It's yours," I said as I kissed her again. "I'm yours."

We undressed each other slowly, enjoying the reveal as if it were new. Whispered words murmured against soft skin, fingers, tongues, heat and wet, all combined as we celebrated the next step in our lives. When I finally sunk in to her, I was barely coherent, overwhelmed by the sensations and emotions I was experiencing.

"Love . . ."

"You too . . ."

"So . . . OH! . . . much . . . Oh, there . . .:"

"Oh God!"

"Oh! Oh! Ohjesusfuckingchristohgod!"

I loved her like that all night, unable to stop touching, tasting and feeling her. We slept until well after noon, exhausted and sated and content. When I woke, alone once more, I knew to head down the hall and I found Sookie, once again, talking with my mother.

"I hope you're okay with me as a daughter," she said. "And I just want you to know that I plan to put his happiness first. He deserves it," she continued. "I just didn't want you to worry," she said as she leaned forward and kissed my mother's scarred forehead. "You raised an incredible man, and I wish you could know him now, in this time."

I walked into the room and came up behind Sookie, wrapping myself around her and smiling at the two of them. "Thank you, love. Thank you," I repeated as I nuzzled her hair, unable to look up for fear of crying.

We left the townhouse and went to my house the next morning. I watched Sookie as she made her way around the house. Her fingers trailed along various surfaces: the kitchen counter, the entryway table, the back of the couch, the shelves of the bookcases and, finally, the linens on the bed. She turned and looked at me, her eyes wide and as blue as I'd ever seen them. She'd already said she would marry me, but still having her in my house, the house I hoped to make a life with her in, made me nervous.

She turned to look at me. "It's beautiful," she breathed.

"You can change whatever you want," I told her. "I don't care, as long as you're here."

She closed her eyes and hummed as a smile graced her face. When she opened them she said, "Welcome me home, Eric. Welcome me home."

And I did.


	28. Chapter 28

Bill's trial was held the following October, two days before Halloween and nearly a year to the day from when Bill kidnapped me. It took some time for me to actually use that word in reference to what he did. In fact, until we started meeting with the District Attorney and prepping for depositions and trial, I'd been speaking in euphemisms—Bill had "taken" me, he'd "made me go with him," he'd "hurt" me. The truth was that Bill Compton had abused, kidnapped and tried to kill me. There were no euphemisms that would make it sound less sordid, and none of them made me feel better about it either.

Instead, I pushed forward with my life: my life with Eric. I moved in with him, finished school, and then we got married. It wasn't a large wedding, and it wasn't traditional, but it was ours. We were married on the beach in Martinique, where Felicia's maman had returned when she retired. Niall gave me away, but we didn't have a wedding party with bridesmaids and groomsmen. The only people that mattered were standing with us anyway: my grandfather, my brother, Amelia, Claudine, Felicia, her mother, Adam, Thalia, and Adam Jr.

We stood on the beach, our toes digging into the warm sand, the soft breeze grabbing strands of Eric's hair and tossing it about. We both wore white; Eric in soft linen pants and a button up shirt, me in a white silk sundress. As Niall walked me across the sand to Eric's side, I saw the smile on Eric's face grow bigger and bigger, until he was aglow with it.

We'd opted for a simple ceremony; no fancy vows, no religious themes. Eric, however, surprised me when he interrupted the officiant, brought my hands to his and said,

Bid me to live, and I will live  
Thy Protestant to be;  
Or bid me love, and I will give  
A loving heart to thee.

A heart as soft, a heart as kind,  
A heart as sound and free  
As in the whole world thou canst find,  
That heart I'll give to thee.

Bid that heart stay, and it will stay  
To honour thy decree;  
Or bid it languish quite away,  
And't shall do so for thee.

Bid me to weep, and I will weep,  
While I have eyes to see;  
And having none, yet I will keep  
A heart to weep for thee.

Bid me despair, and I'll despair,  
Under that cypress tree;  
Or bid me die, and I will dare  
E'en death, to die for thee.

-Thou art my life, my love, my heart,  
The very eyes of me;  
And hast command of every part,  
To live and die for thee.

It was beyond appropriate that he quoted Herrick at our wedding, and tears were sliding down my cheeks by the time he finished. He cupped my face and used his thumb to brush them away, before leaning forward as if to kiss me.

An "ahem" interrupted us and we looked into the face of the smirking "minister" provided by the hotel. Claudine's giggle punctuated the moment and we all broke into chuckles and smiles. After a couple of "I do's," he said, "Now, you may kiss your bride," and Eric enthusiastically did.

We spent a few days with our friends and family, and then we headed off to a private island for a week alone. We spent the time snorkeling and lazing on the beach. Eric did some fishing, including spear fishing while scuba diving. The staff prepared a stunning meal with the fish, and I even ate some sushi that just melted in my mouth because it was so fresh.

We also made love every day, several times a day. Unbeknownst to us, Felicia and Amelia packed a bag full of "goodies" from an adult shop into our suitcase, and we made sure to experiment with all of them, exploring each other in new and delicious ways. I couldn't help but wonder if we would still be as insatiable for each other in five, ten, or twenty years. I didn't think I could ever stop wanting him, and brought up the subject one afternoon as we lay naked and spent on the beach, our skins warmed by the sun.

"Sookie, they're going to be beating me off of you in the old age home," he quipped.

"Eric, I'm serious!"

"So am I! I can't imagine a second of my life when I won't want you, Sookie," he said, his face serious.

"Even when I'm wrinkled and my boobs hang down to my knees?" I asked.

"Will you stop wanting me when I'm bald and have no teeth?" he countered.

I tapped my finger against my chin. "Hmmmm, I hadn't thought of that," I said and broke into hysterical laughter at the look on his face. A minute later I was running down the beach, Eric chasing me and threatening to tickle me within an inch of my life. Well, he caught me, and he tickled me, but I can't say I complained about how and where.

We returned home from our honeymoon tan and happy, and then we decided to remodel the house. It was lovely as it was, but I wanted it to feel a bit more homey and less like a bachelor pad. A month later, the paper Adam and I had written was published in a well-respected journal to critical acclaim, but I decided to take a year off from academia to settle into my new life, and because I knew I'd be busy dealing with Bill's trial.

The one tragic event during those happy months was the death of Eric's mother, although perhaps tragic isn't the right word. It was a blessing and a release, and we all hoped that she and Eric's father found each other in whatever after life there may be. Despite knowing, on a cerebral level, that her passing was for the best, Eric had a hard time adjusting to life without her. His mother's presence and the demands of her condition had dominated such a huge part of his existence for so long, that he often found himself at a loss for what to do.

He had a tendency to fill in those moments with sex, and I didn't deny him. There is nothing more life affirming and reassuring during times of loss than that connection, both instinctually and psychologically. Our lovemaking those times wasn't fun and playful, or deep and meaningful. Instead, it was desperate and needy, and I felt like I was sheltering him, soothing him, restoring him, and I relished the opportunity to give him what he needed.

When school started again, I insisted that he get back to teaching. He'd already taken enough time off and needed to get back in the saddle, so to speak. Two months after later, Bill's trial began. As victims and primary witnesses in the case, Eric and I weren't allowed in the courtroom until after our testimony was over, but I saw Bill's eyes dart to the ring on my finger that day, and darken as he took in its meaning.

Bill and his lawyers tried to go for a temporary insanity defense, but the judge was not convinced by his expert witnesses. His case was pretty much a lost cause after that. Between my testimony and Eric's, he was done for, but the added damning evidence found by the police sealed the deal. The day the jury's verdict was read I felt a shift in my life, as my psyche prepared to close the door on all the old and terrible things I'd experienced.

We stood as the sheriffs began to escort Bill back to jail, the orange jumpsuit making him look as pathetic and awful as he really was. He hung limp between the two men, but as they passed us, he suddenly lunged at me, grabbing my left hand and pulling me toward him.

"This means nothing, Sookie!" he shouted, indicating my ring. "You will always be mine!"

Eric tackled him to the ground and before the sheriffs could separate them, I heard Eric say, "She was never yours, you son-of-a-bitch. But I'm hers, and I'm going to make sure you pay for hurting her."

A week later Bill was sentenced to twenty-five years to life for kidnapping and attempted murder, and that door my psyche had been preparing finally slammed shut. It was with enormous relief that I walked out of the courtroom that day and smack into a pool of reporters. Of course given the status of Eric's family, and his previous tragic history, this story was too good for them to pass up. Eric shielded me as well as possible and directed everyone to Mr. Cataliades, who was not only our attorney but our spokesperson as well.

By Christmas, life had settled back into something resembling normal. The reporters had finally gone away and the renovations on our house were complete. Eric couldn't bring himself to sell his family's townhouse, even though we weren't staying there anymore, so in the end we rented it out to Tray and Amelia. It was a stop gap measure, all around. Eventually they would want to buy a home of their own, just as we would eventually have to make a decision about the house, but for the time being it was a perfect solution.

That Christmas, as we sat around the table enjoying a meal prepared by Niall and me, I looked at the faces of my family, both by blood and through marriage and friendship, and pondered the miraculous twists and turns my life had taken in two short years. After we climbed into bed and celebrated Christmas a little more intimately, I curled into Eric's side and placed my head on his chest.

"I want to write a book," I told him.

"Really?" he replied. "That's fantastic! What are you thinking about writing, love?"

"Well, I thought I might write about a young woman who goes off to school and falls in love with one of her professors . . ." I trailed off, unsure how he would feel about my desire to share our story.

He kissed the top of my head and whispered, "I think that would make a beautiful story, Sookie."

So, I wrote my book and the company Claudine worked for published it—there is something to be said for a little nepotism. Of course the names and some of the events were changed to protect the innocent, but the people familiar with our story recognized it for what it was, and were for the most part supportive. It is my understanding that Bill sent several nasty letters to me, but all my fan mail was screened by my publicist, and the letters were forwarded to the authorities. One day, they just stopped.

As I watched Eric bang away on his keyboard, hard at work on his own book—a comprehensive analysis of Herrick's works—I realized that I was finally fulfilled and happy. The young bar maid with little self-esteem, from a small town in the middle of nowhere, who somehow worked up the nerve to try and seduce her professor had come a long, long way. The road wasn't easy, but in the end it was worth every bump, pothole and curve.

I'd found love. I'd found family. And I'd found a happiness so profound that it often brought me to tears. Despite everything I'd endured, I considered myself one of the luckiest women on earth, and I wouldn't have changed a minute of it, if it meant my life would have taken a different course.

I stood and walked up behind Eric, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He sighed and leaned back against me, grabbing my hand and kissing it. "Come lover," I said tugging on his hand.

He gazed up at me, a tiny smirk beginning to play at the corner of his mouth. "What is it?"

I leaned down, brushed my lips against his before ghosting my mouth over to his ear and whispering, "I need you. Now."

His eyes widened, as did his smirk and as he stood and gathered me up in his arms, he said, "Good, because there's something I wanted to show you . . ."

And I squealed as he carried me off to our bedroom, where he ensured that my story had a happily ever after.


	29. Chapter 29

I sat taking in the scene around me: the lovers attempting to touch each other through the Plexiglas, the addict twitching as his mother blithely chattered on, the wife with the screaming toddler on her lap yelling at the hapless asshole who could do nothing right. A moment later the seat in front of me was filled. I lifted the phone on the side of the wall and waited for him to do the same.

"Well, if it isn't the illustrious Professor Northman," Bill drawled.

"William," I acknowledged.

He was pale and drawn, and the faded denim of the prison's standard issue did nothing to improve how he looked. "To what do I owe the honor? Trouble in paradise? Need some advice as to how to properly handle Sookie?"

I snorted. There was no way he was going to get under my skin. I'd won. He'd lost. End of story. But, he was still trying to harass Sookie. I wouldn't allow it.

"Is that what you did? Handled her? You wouldn't know the first thing about how to handle a woman like Sookie."

I watched him grow agitated. "You stole her from me," he hissed.

"You never deserved her, and she was never yours to begin with," I snapped back. I took a deep breath. Getting into a pissing contest with Compton was not the reason I was there. "I want you to stop sending her those letters."

"She got my letters?" he asked, excitement plain on his face.

"No. Her publicist sees to it that they never get through the initial screening. But, she knows you send them. The police have to be kept up to date, as does your warden."

His face darkened, and when he spoke spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth. He looked like a rabid dog.

"You have no right to keep me from her," he ranted.

I really have no idea how he _wasn't_ found insane at trial.

"William," I tried to be reasonable. Okay, maybe I wasn't _really_ trying to be reasonable. "You're a convicted felon. What exactly about this situation screams 'Sookie, please take me back?' You're a smart man William, or you were." I tried to speak to his academic side—the side of him that made Niall choose him as a research assistant, the side that had impressed most of the faculty.

"I'm the smartest student you ever had, Professor."

"Except Sookie," I countered.

"That bitch couldn't hold a candle to me," he hissed.

"William, William, William, I just can't have you speaking about my wife like that."

His eyes grew dark.

"Yes, William, _my_ wife. Not yours, mine. Mine to touch. Mine to kiss. Mine to fuck."

His hand slammed against the Plexiglas and a guard started forward. I held up my hand to let him know it was okay.

"I'm going to get out of here," he ranted. "I'm going to get out of here and I'm—"

"You aren't going to do a fucking thing, William. You are going to rot in here for the better part of your life." I stood up, preparing to leave. "Tell your new cell mate hello from me. And William? You will stop writing to her." I hung up and walked away ignoring him as he screamed soundlessly from behind the glass.

**x x x**

That blond motherfucker. He had stolen my life from me. I should have been the one to marry Sookie. She was mine. I should have been the one lauded for my academic prowess and publishing my work.

Me.

Instead that stupid bitch ran off with him. They were going to pay. I was going to get out and they were going to pay for what they did to me.

And that book she published?

How dare she write those things about me? Oh, sure now it was "Stephen" who was her first boyfriend and "Alex" who was the professor she fell in love with, but everyone knew it was me and Northman. And the things she wrote. I could kill her for those alone.

I'm not crazy. I'm not a misogynist. I love women. Sookie was just so difficult and she wouldn't fucking listen. And she was a broken, used thing when I found her. She was lucky to have me even though she'd been used and couldn't even have children.

She was so beautiful and soft and . . . mine. And that fucking rich son-of-a-bitch stole her from me. He seduced her, while she was still his student! What kind of sick fuck does that? And that outfit she was wearing? Dressed like a school girl? And they say I'm the one with problems.

I'm the one who loved her. Me. I'm the one who taught her how to please a man. But Northman was reaping the benefits of my hard work. It wasn't right.

I made my way back to my cell, determined to write another letter to Sookie. Eventually one of them was bound to slip through to her. I wanted her to know how much I missed her, but also how angry I was with her. I was prepared to forgive her eventually, but she would need to be punished first. She would need to be punished a lot.

I walked into the cell and saw someone I didn't know lying on my bunk. The guy was huge. I mean body builder huge. His brown hair was in a long ponytail and he had a mean looking scar across his face that ended in his beard.

I'd learned that you had to stand up for yourself in prison. You had to stake claim to what was yours. My education had, ironically, saved me from some of the worst of the abuse that can come to a man in prison. I was helping several of the inmates learn how to read and get their high school diplomas. As a result, I had their protection, at least to some degree. Still, I decided to be firm.

"Who the fuck are you? And what are you doing on my bed?"

"I am Sigebert," he replied. His accent was strange. German perhaps? He eyed me up and down. "I am your new roommate."

**x x x**

I walked out of the prison and into the sunshine, and decided I would no longer concern myself with William Compton. I knew Sigebert would take care of matters.

Sigebert's parents had worked for my father's family back when my father was a child. Sigebert was a few years older than me. Although he was occasionally around when I was a child, when he left for the military, I didn't see him very often.

When I was about fourteen, he was visiting. My mother and I were at the park near the house, and a man accosted us. I learned when I was older that it was likely a kidnapping attempt, although that fact was kept from me when I was young. Sigebert had been walking to the house when he heard my mother's yells. He rushed over and before I knew it the man who had attacked us was pinned under Sigebert, blood pouring from his nose and a few other places.

For years after that, Sigebert was my hero. My parents also felt beholden to him after that day. After he left the military, he would occasionally work security for my parents when they had one of their parties or charity events. When I asked him why he left the army he told me that "don't ask, don't tell" really didn't work for him. I shrugged and told him it didn't matter to any of us.

"I know Little Norrman," he said with a grin. He'd always called me that, and while I would have bristled at the nickname from anyone else, it didn't bother me coming from Sigebert. Like I said, he'd been my childhood hero. He could call me anything he wanted.

Sigebert started to have problems with the law. A fight here. A drunk and disorderly there. However, given the service his parents had given my father for so many years, and the help Sigebert himself had given us, my parents were always there to bail him out and provide him with legal help.

Unfortunately, he finally got into the type of trouble even my parents' money and help couldn't get him out of, and he was spending twenty-five to life behind bars. The years in prison changed him, and I can't say I was proud of those changes. However, one thing remained true: his steadfast loyalty and love for my family.

When I saw him after my parents' deaths, he was devastated. And I won't lie, some of the things he said he would have done to Indira if she was still alive were . . . disconcerting, but I knew it came from a place of a pain. He absolutely adored my parents. Until the explosion they'd sent money every month for deposit in his prison account so he could buy cigarettes and whatever other sundries he needed, and after they died I continued to do so. I knew he would do anything I asked of him.

When I'd met with him the week before and told him everything, he was furious at Compton. Sigebert was a strange contradiction, and although violence and drugs had landed him in jail, he had a perverse sense of justice about people who abused women. He believed in an eye for an eye, so he had absolutely no qualms about my request to make sure Bill paid for what he'd done and, my demand that Bill stop sending letters to Sookie.

No qualms at all.

It took a few phone calls, and I was grateful for the various political connections my family name afforded me, but by the following week, Sigebert had been transferred to the same prison as Bill. That's why I'd gone to see him.

As I walked to the car waiting at the curb, I turned the ring on my finger and thought of Sookie. I knew she would never approve of what I'd done, but I would never regret it either. Bill Compton was a rabid dog and needed to be properly controlled if the authorities weren't going to put him down. I knew Sigebert was the right man to do that. Plus, I wanted a little payback, for myself and for Sookie. I wanted Bill to hurt in every way.

Maybe it made me a bad person, or maybe it just made me human. I wasn't going to get into a philosophical debate with myself. I slid into the car and told the driver to take me home, to my wife.

**x x x**

"Well ' _roomie_ ' you're on my bunk, so move," I snapped at him.

I never even saw the punch he leveled at me, and a moment later I was smashed against the wall, blows landing all over my body. "I hear you like to hit women," he snarled at me.

I spent a couple of days in the infirmary after that. Of course, I couldn't tell them what really happened, because that's just not how things were done. I vehemently denied being in a fight and insisted that I'd just fallen down some steps.

I was released at dinner and went directly to the cafeteria. As soon as I walked in the room went quiet. I saw Sigebert sitting at one end of a table, with the other men sitting well away from him. I looked toward the few men I'd considered "friends" or at least been able to count on for protection in the past, but they wouldn't even look at me, and closed ranks keeping their shoulders tight together, making sure there was no room for me to sit with them.

I looked at Sigebert and he just smiled at me, then resumed eating. I lost my appetite. I set my tray down and made my way back to my cell, praying that somehow, someway, Sigebert had been transferred. I walked in and saw his things still there, and it was obvious he'd begun to use my bunk.

I'd lain in the infirmary bed for two days mulling over Northman's visit and his parting words: "tell your new cell mate hello." I hadn't thought much of it when he said it, but I was certainly thinking about it as I lay there in pain. Northman had set it all up, and while I was furious that this had been done to me, I couldn't deny that I was also frightened by the fact that Northman _could_ set something like that up, that he could reach into the justice system and move people about like pieces on a chess board.

I walked over to the small metal sink in the cell and splashed some water on my face, desperate to figure a way out of my predicament. I heard him come in, and the sound of the door slamming shut as we were locked down for the night. My hands gripped the sink tight and I was afraid to turn around.

I felt him come up behind me. Felt his breath against my neck and his chest against my back and my fingers gripped the sink even tighter. His hands covered mine and he pried them off the sink.

"No," I said, but I wished my voice didn't sound so scared.

"Is a word you know nothing about," he replied. "You thought she belonged to you. You thought you could do what you wanted to her. Now I'm going to teach you what it really means to belong to someone."

I never sat with my old "friends" again. Sigebert had staked his claim on me while I was in the infirmary. I was his in the eyes of everyone at the prison.

I never slept alone again.

I never hit anyone again. Well, there was the one time, but Sigebert made sure I understood the consequences if it happened again.

I never wrote another letter to Sookie.

I never even breathed her name again.

**Author's Note:**

> A back story of childhood sexual abuse and rape is discussed at some point in this story (which is somewhat canon compliant actually) and an attempted rape and kidnapping in the present tense of the story. If these things are going to be a problem for you, don't read it.


End file.
